


Second Hand Smoke

by kashxy



Category: Avengers: Endgame - Fandom, Iron Man 1 - Fandom, Spider-Man: Homecoming
Genre: Bad Boy Harley Keener, Irondad, Jealous Peter Parker, Jealousy, Keenker, M/M, Slow Burn, Toxic traits, bad boy, it’s cute and happy okay?, parkner, teenage love, teenage relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-02 04:56:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 21,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18804151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kashxy/pseuds/kashxy
Summary: On the contrary, the first time Peter met Harley, he very nearly slammed his head into a wall.Unfortunately, he was also the most gorgeous person Peter had ever set eyes on.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It’s rare I write a feel good little fic so...bare with me.

Peter Parker knew about Harley Keener - who didn’t?

His name was plastered all over Mr. Stark’s company, the underage superior of half a dozen small businesses. He was a name rarely talked about in the Stark household, but it held such a passion when brought up that it stuck with Peter for a long time. Of course he knew Harley Keener; he’d just never met him. 

Mr. Stark had been busy on a project at his desk, occasionally sending quick emails back and forth, when he finally unveiled his plans for a new intern. 

“Not really an intern, per say,” he’d shrugged. “He already works for me. It’s just to get him into the mechanics.” 

At the hesitant look in Peter’s eyes, he’d hurriedly backtracked, explaining that ‘Harley’ was _different_ , that he wasn’t going to try and _replace_ his very own prodigy. 

“Plus, how can I let anyone intrude on our Friday lab nights? I look forward to them every week.” 

Peter had smiled at that, and it had all been forgotten in tubs of ice cream and tears of joy.

Until today. 

Three weeks ago, Peter couldn’t have cared less about Harley Keener. Sure, he was Mr. Stark’s first ‘intern’, but Peter had been assured that he was the last: it brought a familiar wave of pride over him time and time again.

Now, he’d never been more nervous in his whole life. Which, in fairness, was a complete exaggeration, but this was the guy who’d seen Mr. Stark at his lowest, known him personally well before Peter. He could easily win Mr. Stark over and take Peter’s place in their weekly lab appointments - and the thought _terrified_ him. 

Swallowing down his worry, he put a clammy hand on the doors of Stark Tower and gently pushed it open. FRIDAY greeted him immediately on a first name basis, sending a wave of relaxation through his body.

“Hey, FRI. Where’s Mr. Stark?”

“Sir is in the living room on level 3.” Her monotone voice replied, and Peter watched the elevator open, the button to the third level already lit up. 

Peter paused for a minute, allowing himself a moment to compose himself before stepping into the elevator. He took a deep breath as the doors closed, curling his hands into fists when it begun to move. He knew full well FRIDAY would have alerted him if there was anything wrong, but the familiar anxiety that forced his spider sense to tingle gently was an annoying itch at the back of his neck. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he let out a deep sigh, hurriedly shaking himself off. 

All too soon, the elevator came to a stop and the doors opened. Immediately, the comforting sound of Mr. Stark’s voice filtered through his ears, only to be broken by a harsher, higher pitched one. The speech cut through Peter like knives and he let out a shaky breath, before quickly chasing the air back into his lungs. He swallowed it greedily and allowed his feet to take him outside of the elevator and into the open living room. 

The first thing Peter noticed was that Harley Keener was _tall_. Peter wasn’t the smallest teenager going, but Harley _towered_ over him, inching past Mr. Stark’s frame easily. 

The second thing that Peter noticed was the Stark Industries shirt adorning his torso. In an annoyingly childish manner, he quickly wished to slap this boy so hard that he wouldn’t step foot in Stark Tower again. That was the side of Peter’s personality that was never in charge, and he proved it with the wave of guilt that immediately washed over him. 

The third and final thing that Peter noticed about Harley Keener was that he was unbelievably, and undeniably _hot_. 

“Hi. You must be Peter.” Harley leant forward, completely genuine as he held a hand out for Peter to shake. The smaller boy took it, wincing at the way his cold, clammy palms stuck to Harley’s hand. He pulled back quickly and tried to avert his gaze from the opposing boy’s piercing vision. 

“Peter, Harley. Harley, you already know who this is.” Mr. Stark grinned, patting Peter gently on the back. The teenager blinked a few times before finding himself again, stumbling over his words as he spoke. 

“I, uh, yeah. Hi.” 

He sounded rough, voice scratchy and high and Peter winced. _What_ _a_ _great_ _first_ _impression_. 

“Mr. Stark tells me a lot about you. Says you’re the most genius kid he’s ever worked with.” Harley grins, lopsided, toothy and _adorable_ , and a small smile graces Peter’s lips as he opens them to speak. “I guess he forgot about me, huh?” 

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed as Harley laughed, a gaze of confusion passing over his face. 

“I’m kidding!” He laughed, a deep rumbling sound that simultaneously released butterflies in his stomach and forced a cold sweat up his spine. “By the way, I love your outfit. I wish I was as confident as you to wear something as messy as that.” 

With that, Harley walked off, still talking like he expected Peter to be right behind him, hanging onto his every word. He was throwing his hands about animatedly, unaware of the fact that Peter wasn’t following him. Instead, the younger boy just stood, taking in what Harley had said to him. _Messy clothes? What was that supposed to mean?_

He grumbled as Mr. Stark used a gentle hand on his back to guide him towards the sofa where Harley was sitting, still talking excitedly. 

Tiredness crept over Peter as he blinked at the boy, still struggling to process his character. On one hand, the boy seemed insanely bubbly and happy, and Peter wondered almost fondly if this was how he looked in lab days. On the other hand, he’d just backhanded two compliments in the space of only a couple minutes, and Peter was well used to them. Granted, they’d only come from a handful of students and teachers, but he’d taken them often enough that he knew how he was supposed to react to them - and it wasn’t well. 

He sat on the sofa and nodded at random places in Harley’s story about working, barely catching words before he zoned out again. He felt Mr. Stark sit beside him and hand him a cup of hot chocolate without a word. The teenager silently thanked him and leant back, slightly less anxious. 

“-so, the moral is, if you want to make it in New York, apparently all you have to do is strip and you’ll be fine. Crazy, huh? Hey? You listening?” 

Mr. Stark spoke before Peter could open his mouth to reply, and the latter was slightly grateful for that fact. 

“Harley,” he warned gently. “Pete’s sixteen. Lay off a little.” 

Harley seemed to understand, despite Peter’s thoughts of him being an absolute dickhead, and he leant back on the sofa with a teasing grin and wandering eyes. 

“Sorry. I get carried away some times, especially when I’m nervous.” 

He elaborated no more on the statement, and Peter cocked his head slightly. Nervous? Him? He couldn’t have seemed further from it from Peter’s point of view. 

“Anyway,” Mr. Stark interrupted before Harley could begin speaking again. “Harley’s interested in the mechanics of Stark Industries, and the fundamentals of the suit. I told him he was more than welcome to come and help, but he can only do Tuesdays.” 

There it was. 

Tuesdays weren’t their special days, per say, but they were still _their_ days. _Their_ lab days. Somebody else intruding would  just ruin all the effort they put in on Tuesdays to make up for the work lost on Fridays. 

Peter had only just met Harley Keener - and he already wanted to slam his head into the nearest wall. 

-

“It was nice to meet you, Peter.” Harley smiled warmly and clasped his hand in his. The tight grip made Peter’s breath hitch and he quickly covered it by sniffling.

The older boy, having already said goodbye to Mr. Stark, stood in the elevator and waited for the doors to close. 

“Where to, Mr. Keener?” FRIDAY asked and Peter grinned. Harley may be ruining his Tuesdays, but at least he’s not on first name basis with Tony Stark’s AI. 

It’s a childish mindset to have, he knows, but he can’t stop himself. After the countless times Harley spoke about owning all the small businesses around Stark Industries, he’d had to have something to keep him sane. In his case, it was coming up with any and all ways that Peter was still better than Harley Keener. 

 “So, kid,” Mr. Stark turns to him, his eyes honest. “What did you think?” 

“He’s...” _Arrogant, cocky, ruining my lab days with you_. “Nice.” 

Mr. Stark doesn’t believe him, Peter can tell, but he doesn’t say anything else on the situation. Instead, he nods to the elevator, that had already deposited Harley at the floor of his choice, and stretches. 

“Happy’s waiting downstairs. I’d love to stay and chat, kid, but I‘ve got a huge meeting with Pepper. Call if you need anything, yeah?” 

The man’s already walking off by the time he’s finished speaking, and Peter hurriedly calls after him.

“See you on Tuesday!” 

Mr. Stark doesn’t acknowledge that he’s spoken, but he doesn’t need to. Peter knows he heard. 

As he heads into the elevator, albeit noticeably more tired and less nervous than earlier, he rests against the wall and ignores FRIDAY when she asks him what floor he’s going to. 

He can’t stop the two conflicting thoughts that run through his head; he doesn’t want this Harley intruding on his lab days with Tony, but he also wants to get to know him more. Peter assumes the latter is the part of him that finds Harley attractive, and tells it to shut up. Unfortunately, during his decision making, he realises he can’t tell which impression of Harley Keener is winning, anymore. 

Whether he wants to slam his head into a wall, or make out with him, Peter can’t be sure. He can’t decide - but he knows damn well he’d best figure it out before Tuesday. 


	2. Chapter 2

By the time Tuesday had rolled around, Peter had busied himself with late night patrols and so much revision that he almost forgot Harley was going to be at their lab day today. 

 _Almost_. 

The realisation dawned on him when he got home from school that Tuesday with Ned, already babbling excitedly about his evening-to-come when he stopped dead in his tracks. 

He groaned, causing Ned to look over at him from where he was lounging on Peter’s bed.

“Remember when I told you I was meeting Harley Keener?” Ned nodded and Peter threw his arms up to his head, dragging his palms down his face. “He’s gonna be helping me and Mr. Stark tonight.” 

Ned raised an eyebrow and, ever so honest, shrugged and got back to working on the LEGO set he was constructing. 

“So? Harley’s not stupid; you won’t have to explain everything to him.” He looked up and wiggled his eyebrows. “Besides, you’re freaking Spider-Man, dude. If he gets too annoying, just web him up.” 

Peter rolled his eyes and chose to ignore the Spider-Man comment. Ever since Ned had caught him in his suit, he brought it up whenever possible. As much as Peter loved his best friend, there were times and places for Spider-Man to be brought up, and the majority of the time, Ned picked the wrong ones. 

“It’s not that. He knew Mr. Stark way before me. What if he likes Harley more than me?” 

He plays off the insecurity in the comment with a dramatic flail of his arms, flopping on the bed next to Ned with a mumbled groan. 

“He’s gonna take my spot.” He whines into the bed sheet, almost _feeling_ Ned laugh at him. His best friend was far from sympathetic when it came down to his worries about Mr. Stark - he’d had the opportunity of a lifetime. It seemed only silly to complain. 

“He’s not gonna replace you, Peter.” Ned says, the noise of his phone opening breaking Peter out of his pity trance. 

“Wanna play Mario Kart?” 

-

The distance between Stark Tower and Peter’s apartment had always seemed so far away. Today, however, it seemed closer than ever. 

The journey went by extremely quickly, even though Peter had opted to walk there instead of swinging. After seeing Ned home, he’d seen no reason to hurry the inevitable, and dragged his feet when the tower came into view. 

“Good evening, Peter.” FRIDAY chirped, as happy as her technology would allow. Peter mumbled out a half hearted greeting and stepped into the elevator, not bothering to ask where Mr. Stark was. 

He tried to shake off the worry coursing through his veins, hoping that if he just _pretended_ to be okay with the situation, that it would come true. 

When the doors of the elevator opened, however, he couldn’t keep the smile off his lips and walked into the small room connecting to the lab like he’d done so many times up until now. Harley was a lost memory in the back of his mind when he spotted Mr. Stark leaning over the work bench with a screwdriver in his hand, tinkering with one of the suits. 

Perhaps if Peter had been paying more attention, he would have noticed the glass door sliding open in the corner of his vision. Unfortunately, he was stuck before he could escape the conversation. 

“Peter,” an unwelcome voice startled him out of his bliss, coming from the right of him. “Nice to see you again.” 

Peter forced himself to turn and confront the source of the voice. Sure enough, Harley stood a few feet away, having just walked out of the lab; he looked dirty, messy and unkept, and Peter scolded himself for staring at the ink spot on the left corner of his mouth. 

“Ah, Harley! How long have you been here?” 

“About an hour. Tony hasn’t stopped talking about you since I got here.” 

The grin that graces the taller boys’ lips is sincere, and Peter trusts his spider senses enough for them to let him know if Harley’s intentions were anything but good natured. 

“What’s he doing?” Peter presses his hands together, ignoring the feeling of pride he gets when he hears that Mr. Stark was talking about him. 

“Upgrades. Suit 616. See for yourself.”

He led Peter into the room, and the latter tried not to feel annoyed at the way Harley was acting like he’d been in this lab his whole life. This was where Peter had slept, worked, cried... He’d spent the better part of the last six months here, and, although it was completely and utterly childish, he felt terribly protective of the room. 

Mr. Stark didn’t even have to look up to know that Peter was present in the room. He called out excitedly, leaning back from the suits arm he had been leaning over. 

“Pete! I took your advice, kid. It’s gonna work wonders.” 

The smile on the man’s face was enough to snap Peter out of the jealous mindset he held, and he quickly hurried over to sit on the empty stool next to where Mr. Stark was working. 

“I’ll stand, then.” Harley joked, moving to stand just behind Peter. The smaller boy gaped like a fish, quickly standing up, but a hand on his chest stopped him before he could get any further. “You take it. It’s the least I can do.” 

Peter stood for a moment longer, his eyes searching Harley’s. The words didn’t sink in until the boy had given him a teasing smirk and walked off, already chattering with Mr. Stark about where they could take the suit next. 

His mind was running at a mile a minute, constantly turning over and over in search of a solution to Harley’s behaviour. Peter had never had to dealt with someone like this before - everyone he came into contact with were either mean, or kind. No in between. Even _Happy_ was considered kind in Peter’s books. 

“Peter? Peter?” Harley waved a hand in front of his face, snapping the younger boy out of his day dream. His lips were turned upwards in an amused grin, laughing at him, and Peter felt that familiar surge of annoyance. 

“What?” He snapped back, taking his seat once again. Mr. Stark was still tinkering with the suit, though he’d moved to the fingers now. 

“Can the attitude, kid. I want your opinion on this.” 

He pushed a stack of blueprints towards him, the top one prominent and folded. Double sided, it was packed with information, and the hand writing varied from Mr. Stark’s to Peter’s...to _Harley’s_. 

“Is this what you’re working on now?” He asked, excitedly, scanning over the blueprints even though he already knew what was written there. Peter had brought forward to idea to include small shooters in the tips of the fingers of the suit, something that was so minuscule that enemies wouldn’t be able to see it. The trigger was a small button on the palm of the suits’ hand, similar to the one on the Spider-Man suit. Mr. Stark turned over the arm, and Peter was elated to see that he’d truly done it. 

“Mr. Stark, that’s awesome!” He exclaimed, jumping out of the seat. He ran his fingers over the button, grinning from ear to ear at the little ‘ _P_ ’ engraved in it. 

“It was your idea, kid,” he clapped him on the back. “You deserve a little piece of recognition in the suit.” 

Peter had already forgotten about Harley, who was watching with a small smile on his lips as Peter pratically radiated happy energy. He was too engrossed in the fact that there was a piece of him in _Iron_ _Man’s_ _suit_ , the one and only. He’d thought himself lucky when he bagged the ‘internship’, but this was something new. 

“Can we try it out?” 

Mr. Stark chuckled and gently pushed Peter back to the seat. “Alright, kid, no need to get ahead of ourselves. Even Tony Stark can’t perfect something as tiny as this in one night.” 

Peter sighed with a pout on his lips. “Friday?” 

The AI above him quickly replied, but Mr. Stark understood what he meant. 

“Yeah, we’ll try it out on Friday.” 

Peter grinned, excitement already running through him. He couldn’t wait; this was his first real technical work and it was in _Iron_ _Man’s_ _suit_. 

”Well, I can’t miss that.” Came Harley’s voice, startling Peter out of his delighted mindspace. The grin faltered, but he tried desperately not to let Harley’s input ruin his exuberance. 

Mr. Stark looked at him with a slight tilt in his eyebrow, asking for Peter’s permission. It held a special place in the boy’s heart, how much Mr. Stark respected his opinion. He took a deep breath and looked to his side to see Harley smiling down at the arm, gently prodding it like he was too afraid to touch it. He looked insanely delighted and curious, and Peter realised with a jolt that that was probably what he looked like two minutes ago. It brought a wave of guilt over him, to possibly turn down another boy’s dreams. 

Peter looked back at Mr. Stark and pressed his lips together, before giving him an encouraging smile. 

“Yeah. I can’t wait.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> slow uploads as i have to study for a biology exam, which is proving to be very difficult. pray for me x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not edited

If Peter didn’t know any better, he’d assume Ned had a thing for Harley Keener. 

His best friend was practically drooling when Peter explained the situation with the ‘internship’, and how much time he would be spending with Harley. While him and Mr. Stark still had Sunday’s together, alone, it was more for work or joint patrol (because, as Mr. Stark had pointed out, he wasn’t getting any younger, and needed the fresh air), so it didn’t leave much room to express his overactive imagination. 

“He’s just so...” Peter trailed off, stabbing his fork into a small piece of chicken. “Infuriating.” 

“That’s a big word,” MJ piped in, slamming her tray down with a huff. “Can you spell it?” 

Peter flipped her off, watching with a newfound fondness as she sat closer to them. It had taken a while for her to allow them to become her friends, but Peter valued her now, and was so happy she’d come round to their charms. 

“What are we talking about?” 

Ned paused mid-bite, cheese sandwich still half in his mouth. “Harley Keener.”

MJ raised an eyebrow. “Who?” 

With a half open mouth, Ned gasped, looking at her in alarm. “Who? Only the _youngest_ owner of how many businesses owned by Stark Industries!” He exclaimed hurriedly, emphasising his respect for him. 

Peter rolled his eyes and leant onto his hand with a sigh, pretending that the piece of chicken he was stabbing was Harley’s face. “He’s not that special.” 

Ned gave him a pointed look. 

“Besides, he’s weird anyway.” 

“In what way?” MJ asked, distractedly biting into her apple. 

“Well, he’s always half complimenting me, half insulting me, he-”

“Oh, no, I don’t _care_.” 

She gave him a teasing look and Peter smiled. It had taken a while to adjust to her humour, but eventually Ned and him had grown to love both the girl and her personality. 

The conversation quickly moved on, taking a rapid turn of events to talk about Star Wars. 

 _Maybe I shouldn’t care, either._ Peter thought with a small sigh. 

Afterall, he’d grown to love MJ, and her personality was difficult to decipher. What was stopping him from learning to love Harley, too? Mr. Stark did. 

The thought of the taller boy brought an unwelcome blush creeping up his neck, and Peter ducked his head, begging it to go away. The boy was so _smart_ ; of _course_ Mr. Stark loved him. Peter could never compare. 

The dinging of his old phone interrupted the conversation, all three of them turning to look at Peter’s phone, which had been discarded on the table near Ned. 

Before Peter could protest, his best friend had snatched the phone up and was leaning out of Peter’s reach, reading the text out loud. 

_hi peter, it’s harley. tony gave me ur number in case i needed help in the lab or smth. message me bck so i know i  have the right number? :) x_

Ned’s mouth dropped open, turning slowly to gaze at Peter in astonishment. The latter had his face in his hands to hide the violent pink of his cheeks, kicking himself under the table for keeping his sound on. 

“You and Harley Keener are on _texting_ terms?!” Ned whisper-screamed, shaking  the phone in his face so rapidly Peter could barely see it. He slowly dragged his hands down his face, keeping them clasped tightly around his neck. 

“You need to answer!” 

Ned threw the phone at him, causing the smaller boy to flinch back in panic. 

“No, I can’t! What do I say?” 

Peter shook his head, leaning back as Ned pushed the phone into his chest. MJ had long since gotten bored of their conversation, and was reading a book quietly to herself, her earphones drowning out the sound of the boys’ bickering. Peter silently wished to be in her situation, away from the worries of disappointing Mr. Stark’s favourite intern. 

“How about; “Hi, this is Peter! I can’t wait till Friday, you’re so smart and I drool over the thought of you?” Peter reeled back violently in shock, glaring at Ned. 

“What?” 

He snatched the phone back, red flushing his face intensely. 

“Is it that obvious?” He whispered, rubbing at the cold sweat on the back of his neck. He pressed his lips together and groaned when Ned nodded like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Dude, Harley Keener’s one of the hottest guys I’ve ever seen.” He said nonchalantly. “No homo though.” 

Peter shook his head and groaned again, staring at the text message on the lit  screen in front of him. Ned wasn’t gay, he knew that, but the fact that Peter’s somewhat-attraction for Harley (if he could even call it that) was so obvious had him so embarrassed he wanted to sink into the ground. 

 “Just answer him.” Ned finalised, pushing the phone towards Peter gently with a pointed look. Knowing it was worthless to try and argue, the latter sighed and picked up the phone. 

He let the cursor linger for a few moments before writing something. 

_Hi Harley. This is Peter. I’m looking forward to Friday, glad Mr. Stark gave me your number._

He hastily deletes it with a groan, clenching his eyes together. His hand pushes back the curls off of his forehead, and he makes another attempt. 

_Hi Harley. This is Peter. Looking forward to Friday._

Still not right, he realises with a grumble. Who knew texting someone who couldn’t see you would be such a big deal? 

_Hi Harley. This is Piter._

He sends it without thinking as his heart skips one beat, two, and he realises he’s _spelt his own fucking name wrong._

He pulls up the chat again immediately, quickly correcting himself. The blush that was ever present on his cheeks is now raging and violent and for a completely different reason. He feels ill; he’d just embarrassed himself in front of Harley _fucking_ Keener. 

Ned leans over and spots the message, and the two boys watch as the bubble containing three dots shows up at the bottom of the cracked screen. Peter almost cries at the anxiety running through his veins, curling down his toes and making his stomach flip. He doesn’t know why he cares so much; just that the thought of embarrassing himself in front of Harley is one of the worst problems he’s experienced in the past week - and he’d fought _a_ _lot_ of thieves. 

_well, i look forward to seeing u on friday, piter ;) x_

Something settles in the pit of his stomach, and it takes a while for Peter to work out whether it’s nerves, excitement, or a mix of both. He settles on the last option, though he sees no reason for himself to be feeling this way. It was pretty stupid; he’d known Harley barely a solid week, but the butterflies in his stomach seem to think they’ve known each other for years. 

The kiss at the end seems so much more prominent now, on both texts, and Peter isn’t sure how to take it. He understands that everyone sends kisses nonchalantly, that it’s just a habit, but his stupid mind can’t help wanting it to be something more, even though he doesn’t even know the guy. It’s one of Peter’s worst traits, and he’d grown to despise it. 

Peter sighs and sends a sad look at Ned, only to see the other boy trying to distract MJ from her book. He watches them for a moment, fingers hesitating over the keyboard before he decides to reply. 

_See you Friday. x_


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m so sorry this is so short, i have like no motivation at the minute. i’ve passed all my exams though so hopefully the next chapters will be better and longer as i can focus on them! thank you!

If May had noticed that he was a little more nervous that Friday, she didn’t say anything. Her eyes held a heightened level of concern, but she didn’t act upon it, and kept their daily routine the same. 

When Mr. Stark had informed him that Happy was taking the day off today, he’d been slightly unnerved, but nothing he didn’t forget about in piles of math homework. However, when he’d gotten home, he’d understood why he was so nervous about Happy not taking him, and he’d realised it with a childish spike of jealousy and a soft groan of annoyance. 

If Happy had driven him to Stark Tower straight from school, he would have been with Mr. Stark at least two hours before Harley got there. But May didn’t finish until five, and by that time, Harley would be working in the lab, no doubt about it. 

He’d spoken to Ned about his worries, becoming increasingly frustrated with keeping his feelings bottled up. He hadn’t liked the boy since the day he met eyes on him, but for some reason, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from him when they were together. It was shallow, and pathetic, and Peter hated that that was the thought in his head when he finally stepped out of the car outside Stark Towers and came face to face with Mr. Stark and Harley. 

For some incredibly stupid reason, Peter had instantly faltered when he set eyes on Harley. The taller boy’s hair was ruffled with sweat, his shirt billowy around his biceps. Peter’s mouth fell open as the boy half-smirked at him. 

It was surprisingly hard to tear his eyes away from Harley to greet Mr. Stark, and he must have faltered for a moment too long, as his mentors eyes turned to face Harley and clouded in concern. He’d made it very clear that if Peter didn’t want Harley here, the latter wouldn’t be here, and unfortunately, he wasn’t completely misinterpreting Peter’s stuttering. 

“You alright, kiddo? Harley’s ordered pizza, so we can eat before working if you like?” 

Peter nodded dimly, trying to decipher whether the feelings floating around his stomach were nerves or disappointment. They both seemed so similar at this point. 

He turned quickly to wave at May as she drove off in her old, broken car, promising to come get him at eleven and no later. 

“Peter!” Harley spoke for the first time since Peter had arrived. “Did you not get my text?” 

Peter frowned and pulled out his phone, shaking his head when the last message he sent to Harley was on Wednesday. 

“Oh. I wasn’t sure you were coming, so I only ordered enough for two people.” 

“I told you he was coming, Harley.” Mr. Stark interrupted, saving Peter from having to answer while he felt like he was about to burst into tears, or flames. Or both. 

“I’m sure you’ll suffice.” He offered, a bright smile lacing his lips, and turned to walk back towards the entrance of Stark Tower. 

Peter gawked after him, tears burning his eyes. Of course he wasn’t invited. How stupid could he have been? 

The pathetic, sensitive side of him wanted to run after May and never face  Harley again. The Spider-Man side of him wanted to run to him and atempt to be civil and friendly. 

Both sides of him merged together, and he ended up sulking as he followed Mr. Stark inside, heat burning his cheeks. He could hear Harley talking in front of him, excitedly chattering to Mr. Stark and couldn’t believe for a second that his tone had been so conflicting and harsh only a few minutes before. The glint in his eyes was a strange mixture of mischief and sincerity, and Peter stared at him for a long time attempting to figure him out. 

When they’d reached the living room on level three (FRIDAY immediately greeting Peter by his first name), Harley and Mr. Stark made their way to the table, a movie half watched paused on the T.V, two boxes of pizza hanging out. Mr. Stark waved for him to sit, but Peter faltered and watched as Harley sat in _his_ space. 

He could sense Mr. Stark was about to say something, so he jumped in. 

“Mr. Stark,” he coughed, a sheepish haze cloading his face. “I need to go work on a...project. I’m not hungry. Do you mind if I go work on it in the lab?” 

He widened his eyes slightly, flicking them down to his wrist and back up at Mr. Stark’s face. The latter followed his gaze and got it immediately, understanding he wanted to go work on the suit. 

“Yeah. That’s fine. We’ll be back in two hours, don’t break anything, alright?”

Peter only nodded, comforted by the fact that Mr. Stark knew full well he wouldn’t dare touch anything that didn’t belong to him.  

He turned back to the elevator, quietly talking to FRIDAY, and stood in it, turning to face the room he’d just come from. 

Harley was staring at him, his eyebrows slightly furrowed, his head tilted back in a studying gaze. His eyes trailed Peter up and down, and up and down, resting on his face finally. A smirk graced his lips, and Peter couldn’t have been happier that the doors shut just at that moment, Harley’s piercing gaze a 3D image in the very front of his mind. He took a second to compose himself, leaning against the wall with his eyes closed until he could breathe again.

Harley Keener. What a mystery. 


	5. Chapter 5

When Peter rejoined Harley and Mr. Stark, the former was incredibly quiet compared to his attitude before, and he revelled in the down low time he could spend with his mentor. He’d wanted to ask him to fix the small hole in his Spider-Man suit, made by a pocket knife, but he’d have to wait until Harley was no longer there for him to bring it up. 

Everytime Peter spoke, Harley almost looked embarrassed, though he covered it up with burning glares and eye rolls. It sent spikes of dissapointment and confusion through the smaller boy, but he’d dismissed it by distracting himself in conversations about FRIDAY’s technology. He’d wondered if he could improve Karen’s tech to include emergency calls and extra words for her to describe how the enemies she’d seen looked like, things Mr. Stark hadn’t originally installed into her. It was disguised well, and he’d promised they’d work on it on Sunday. 

Harley had listened to the conversation in a sulk, twisting the chair around and around with a screwdriver in his hand. He’d occasionally piped in, but had otherwise stayed silent. 

Peter almost felt _bad_. He knew he shouldn’t; after all, Harley had been incredibly rude to him before and made him feel like absolute shit. So, he’d attempted to make small talk with the taller boy, piping up with random questions to keep him engaged. 

Harley had downright ignored him, at one point even turning in his chair to face his back to Peter. The smaller boy has jolted, shocked, and got back to working on his homework, a deep sadness of rejection flowing through his body. 

By the time eleven rolled around, Harley had gotten up and left with a mumbled goodbye to Mr. Stark and silence to Peter. He’d left a couple minutes before May had told Peter she was five minutes away, so he left the lab with the promise of working on Karen on Sunday and a demand to FRIDAY to ensure Mr. Stark slept. 

“I’m supposed to be bossing _you_  around, kiddo.” He’d laughed, and bolted up when Peter had reached the elevator. 

“Pete, wait.” 

The teenager turned, FRIDAY keeping the elevator doors open obediently for him. 

“Are you okay? With Harley here?” 

Peter must have faltered on his words for too long, for Mr. Stark gave him a knowing look and walked over. 

“I spoke to him about how he acted towards you. It wasn’t right.” 

Peter nodded, heat rising in his cheeks as he felt his eyes sting. He’d dealt with Flash for _years_ , but he’d never had a father figure to protect him against the taunting, and he’d never had the heart to bring it up to May. 

“I spoke to him, when you’d left.” He said, confirming Peter’s suspicions. “He’s going through a lot, but you’re my number one, kiddo. If you want him gone, I’ll ask Pep to teach him a few things.” 

The thought had crossed his mind. It was embarrassing to admit, and he felt guilty immediately after, but it _was_ an option, and he was comforted that it was still there. 

“He’s...interesting.” Peter tried. “You gave me a chance. Maybe he’ll calm down.” 

Mr. Stark gave him a smile, and clapped him on the shoulder. 

“That’s my boy. You’re better than me, at least.” 

He laughed and Peter was _glowing_ , smiling from ear to ear as his mentor gave him a sideways hug. 

“Well, skid addle, young buck.” He grinned, and gently pushed Peter towards to open elevator. He gave him a pat on the back, and Peter watched him walk off while the doors closed in front of him. 

The elevator was quick, and Peter made small conversation with FRIDAY on the way down. When he left, he was smiling, Harley a forgotten memory in the back of his mind. 

It was cold outside, a dark October night, and Peter shivered when he realised he was wearing nothing but jeans and a t-shirt. May was still about there minutes away, and Peter was just about to turn and wait inside, when he spotted Harley leaning against a wall, watching him through slitted eyes. 

He could turn, go back inside, and only leave when he saw May’s car. He could suffer, and stay in the cold with Harley’s eyes burning a hole into his back. 

In his internal battle, his subconscious had chosen an option that Peter _hadn’t_ laid out. 

He turned and made his way towards Harley, straightening his back in an attempt to look taller and ignore his shivering. Smoke wafted around his head as he blew out, and Peter winced as he stopped a few feet away from him. 

Harley took another drag while Peter waited for him to make the first move. His stature faltered under the piercing gaze, and blood rose in his cheeks as he contemplated running down the street and never coming back. 

“Want one?” 

Peter looked at him, his eyes searching Harley’s own. The taller boy wasn’t joking, and Peter almost laughed at the idea of him thinking he was a smoker. 

“No. I don’t smoke.” 

“I didn’t think so.” He replied and took a breath in, pushing the smoke into his lungs and then exhaling straight into Peter’s face. 

It wasn’t intentional, but it didn’t stop Peter flinching back. The taller boy didn’t apologise, but he flicked the ash off of the end of the cigarette, and put it out on the floor. 

“Why do you hate me?” 

Harley was possibly the coolest person Peter had ever met, but even he visibly recoiled slightly at the comment. He stared at the floor for a few moments, until his eyes flicked up to burn into Peter’s face. 

“I don’t hate you.” 

“You don’t like me.” 

Harley didn’t answer, but he pushed himself off the wall with a scowl towards Peter, and moved closer to the smaller boy. 

Up close, Harley towered over him, and Peter had to lean back to gaze at his face. Ignoring the jump in his heart, he gulped and tried to bite back the gag at the smell of second hand smoke on Harley’s clothes. 

“It’s not _you_ I have a problem with.” He spat. His eyes had softened, but his features were stony in the dim light, and Peter found it difficult to tear his eyes away from his face. He felt so stupid, the anger running through his veins at Harley’s hostile state completely melting away when he looked in his eyes. 

A car was pulling up behind him, and Harley’s eyes flickered away from Peter’s, but the latter couldn’t bring himself to turn around. 

“Just stay out of it, alright? You don’t even know me.” 

Harley walked off at that, not even giving a second glance at Peter behind his shoulder. May was honking from behind him, but it took Peter a moment to blink himself out of the trance Harley’s eyes had forced him into. 

The car was warm, and dry, but it didn’t pull the shivering away from Peter’s body. May was staring at him with a concerned look in her eyes, her hand brushing over his knee softly. 

“Everything alright, Pete?” 

Peter’s eyes watched Harley’s figure moving away, his mind stuck in a debate of wanting to run after him, or to completely ignore him. He chose the latter, but it didn’t suck the smell of his clothes from Peter’s memory, or the look in his eyes when Peter stared at him. 

“Yeah. Everything’s fine.” 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter focuses more on one scene, which involves a lot of text. i don’t really enjoy writing text scenes and it’s mainly just a filler. :) it’s super short too so have this until i write out the next (long, interesting) chapter!

_im sorry i didnt give u my jacket. that was a dick move._

Peter stared in shock down at his phone. It had barely been half an hour that he’d been home, and he’d done everything in his power to forget about Harley and push the lingering smell of his smoke and his clothes away from his memory. 

He’d just gotten out of the shower when he noticed the message, lighting up his battered phone in the dim light of his room. He’d planned on having a warm night in his pyjamas and hot chocolate and forgetting the day Harley Keener has ever graced this earth with his presence, but here he was, heart beating insanely fast for something as small as a little text message. 

His response lit up the screen, the _delivered_ message almost taunting him. It had been three minutes and Harley still hadn’t read it, and Peter’s impatience was itching to reach the phone and force a reply out of the older boy. 

_Hey, no problem. Are you alright? You seemed a bit off today. I hope your research is coming along well. I know how difficult it is to start out._

Harley was confusing, to say the very least. Peter had bit back the whines he wanted to throw at May throughout the whole journey home, wanting someone to listen to him and understand his concerns. He knew, in real life, that they’d tell him he was being silly as overreacting at the slightest thing - but he needed the reassurance that he wasn’t imagining things, that he was completely right in thinking Harley was the most interesting and exasperating person he’d ever met.  

Had he over stepped a barrier? Was there a thin line that split the feelings of friend and accquantice with Harley? Perhaps he thought the question was weird, perhaps Peter shouldn’t be worried at all when thinking of how the taller boys’ eyes had glistened with tears, or how his breath told Peter that the cigarette he’d caught him with most definitely wasn’t his first of the evening. 

Before he could worry too much about his boundaries, his phone was lighting up, and his heart was pounding. 

_it’s not that. i got some shit goin on, and tony seems to like u so much haha. no hate on u though, u seem like a great guy. really, u do :)_

Peter furrowed his eyebrows at the message for a moment, his brain wracking for a suitable response. 

Of course. He physically smacked his forehead, embarrassment flooding through his veins and right to his cheeks. Peter might have been Mr. Stark’s mentee, but Harley had known the man for half a decade longer than Peter had. Harley had almost been completely shut out after the pizza incident, and Peter wanted to throw himself out of the nearest window when his mind flashed back to the small smile on Harley’s face when Peter had left him and Mr. Stark alone. The boy didn’t want to get rid of him - he wanted alone time with his idol, who Peter had been near almost the whole time Harley had been in the room. 

It took a while for him to decide on an appropriate response. After all, he really _didn’t_ know this guy, and perhaps he was overstepping his welcome by asking for such an intimate conversation out of him. 

_Do you want to talk? I don’t mean to overstep anything, and I can see where you’re coming from, but would like to explain?_

He sounds so formal that he almost cringes, hastily wishing to delete the message instantly. He can see Harley has read it, the little bubbles in the bottom left indicating he’s replying, and Peter winces. 

_sure. i can send u the address of the coffee shop near me and we can meet at 11. sound good?_

Peter’s heart is quite possibly ready to burst out of his chest. He fumbles back a reply and throws his phone down the bed, clambering up to the head board in just his towel. Nerves are flowing through him already, and he sends a quick text to Ned to update him before flopping back on the bed and letting the emotions consume him. 

He’s meeting Harley Keener for lunch. _The_ Harley Keener. 

Could this situation get any weirder? 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m really sorry for the shortness. will make up for it in the next chapter. :)


	7. Chapter 7

The coffee is shop is quiet, calm and smells like warm muffins and cinnamon. The music is soft, and with the rain gently pouring outside and pattering onto the bay windows that overlook the bustling street and towering buildings, Peter thinks that it couldn’t be any more peaceful. It’s in complete contrast to Harley’s character, and Peter wonders why he chose this particular small coffee shop, on the corner of an old street leading off towards Central Park. Of all the years he’s lived in New York, how many tall buildings he’s stepped foot in, he’ll never grow out of love with the cosy cafe’s dotted around the city’s center. 

“Peter!” A voice rings through the cafe, and Peter turns his wide eyes to meet Harley’s smiling face. Rain is still dripping off of Peter’s curls and down his cheeks, and he looks through his eyelashes to catch a glimpse of the taller boy standing from his seat on the sofa and making his way towards him. 

Peter has to stand and catch his breath for a moment, his lungs completely failing him. No matter how much he sees, or how super his body thinks it is, it’ll never stop the bone crushing anxiety he feels when he sees someone so beautiful he wants to cry. 

Harley’s skin is a gorgeous caramel colour in the soft light of the cafe, and his blue eyes twinkle when they wink gently at Peter’s hazel ones. He runs a hand through his fluffy hair, letting it fall into place atop his head, and sends a sheepish gaze towards Peter. 

“I didn’t think you’d come.” 

Peter can almost _hear_ Karen prompting his to answer, like he has so many times before when he’s met people in his suit. The words travel up his throat, but never manage to escape his lips as he stares at Harley with a half open mouth. He gulps, like there’s a golf ball in his throat, and smiles awkwardly.

“Shall we- sit?” He squeaks out, and winces at the unevenness of his own voice. 

If Harley notices, he doesn’t say anything. He leads him over to a small table with two sofa’s on opposite sides, next to a window overlooking the road. The lights are dimmer here, and Peter can feel his heart racing even faster. It’s all so _perfect_. He takes a seat on one side, appreciating the space Harley gives him when he sets himself down opposite him.

“I was a dick. I should apologise.” 

He stops, and Peter looks up from his lap when the silence lingers for a moment longer than expected. Harley’s staring at him, at his lips, at his collarbones, at his eyes. His wandering eyes freeze when they meet Peter’s, and he drops them to his lap, ashamed. 

“I know I’ve been off with you. I don’t mean it.”

Peter nods, and just gazes dumbly into Harley’s eyes. _He’s_ supposed to be the smart one, the best and last enterprise of Stark Industries, and here he is, gobsmacked in front of a teenage boy, while the latter is as cool as a cucumber. It’s so _backwards_ , but somehow the scene has Peter hardly caring at all. 

“I don’t get why you hate me.” He blurts out, and winces when the words leave his mouth. 

Harley sighs and rubs his eyebrows, his expression embarrassed when he finally looks back up at Peter. 

“I don’t hate you, Peter. I told you this.” 

“Then why don’t you like me? You’re always mean, and-“ 

Peter stops, and sinks back into the sofa. He sounds so childish, and suddenly realises that he really shouldn’t have come. The embarrassment seeks through his veins and he doesn’t dare look up to see how Harley’s looking at him. 

Anger runs through his veins when Harley doesn’t respond straight away. He feels _so_ ashamed, and embarrassed; if the ground were to swallow him whole right there, he’d have accepted it without a second thought. 

“I don’t mean to be.” 

He sounds almost apologetic, but there’s a hint of sadness in his voice. There always seems to be so much pain when he speaks, and Peter can hear it clearer now that he’s speaking softly in a quiet cafe, and not insulting him harshly while his mind focuses elsewhere. 

“Really. You’re a sweet boy, you’re...amazing.” He finishes and now it’s _his_ turn to look sheepish. “I know I seem like a right douchebag, but I’ve grown up my whole life fighting tooth and nail for what I have.” 

Peter looks up as a waiter sets two hot chocolates down in front of them, topped with frothy whipped cream. He looks up and sees Harley smiling at him, his delicate fingers already wrapped around the cup. 

“I hope you like hot chocolate.” 

If the lump in Peter’s throat hadn’t been so massive, he might have jumped on top of the older boy and made out with him until he couldn’t breathe. 

“It’s not your fault,” Harley continues, his eyes trained on Peter as the latter brings the cup to his lips. “Tony loves you. You’re really smart. You’re just...naturally gifted.” 

Heart thumping in his chest, Peter furrows his eyebrows and attempts to swallow past the lump in his throat. He’s been at the receiving end of this conversation too many times not to know where Harley’s going. 

“Everything you do comes naturally. I watch you work, and talk, and you just know what to do.” 

“It’s really difficult.” Harley continues and unwraps his lithe fingers from the cup. “I don’t understand half of what you and Tony are doing, but I try. I wish I was like you.” 

Peter coughs on the drink, and lurches forward, spluttering on his sleeve. Harley places a concerned hand on his back and pats it gently, while Peter chokes until his face goes red. He leans back with watery eyes, and waits till he can see again to speak. 

“Me?” He says, breathlessly.” But you’re... _Harley Keener_!” 

Harley raises an eyebrow and crosses his right leg over his left. He fumbles with his fingers for a moment, biting on his bottom lip. It sends something unwanted through Peter’s brain, and he tears his eyes away from Harley’s lips in an attempt to regain control. 

“You’re the CEO of, like, five different businesses. You’re smart, I’ve read your reports! Mr. Stark loves you, and you’re so good at what you do, and you’re-”

He cuts himself off and bites back the words _‘so fucking hot’._ Now wasn’t the time. 

“Look, you’ve achieved so much, and you’re really getting there with the suit. Just keep going, and-“ 

“But I’m not getting any better!” Harley raises his voice slightly, and Peter jumps. The former smiles apologetically and leans forward.   

“I’m sorry. I don’t feel like I‘m getting anywhere trying to work in the environment we’re trying to make.”

Harley’s eyes hold a great tint of sadness when they eventually meet Peter’s gaze, and they both stare at each other, barely able to breathe. 

“I don’t want you to stop because of me. If you want, I’ll ask Mr. Stark to let me work somewhere else.” 

He can’t believe the words that are escaping his mouth and, apparently, neither can Harley. 

“No!” His eyes snap up in shock, body leaning forward towards the table. “No, no, you don’t have to throw away your sessions just for me. Look, I’ll get over it!”

Peter furrows his eyebrows, and draws out a long ‘ _okay_ ’ in response. The defensiveness in his words seeps through into his actions, as Harley’s whole body tenses, and he curls slightly smaller into himself. Perhaps, if Peter hadn’t such a good eye, he wouldn’t have noticed. But he did.  

“Look, I’ll put up with it. I’m just having trouble making it click and it’s my own fault I’m always too distracted.” 

“By what?” Peter blurts out and watches as Harley freezes for a quick second. He doesn’t answer for a long time, and falls backwards onto the sofa with slanted eyes. They travel Peter’s small body until they reach his eyes, and Harley tilts his head, and presses his lips together. 

Oh. 

 _Oh_.

If Peter’s heart hadn’t been erratic before, it certainly was now. He shuffles uncomfortably and casts his eyes to the ground. His face is red now, and it’s not all because he’s embarrassed. 

“Oh.” Is all Peter manages out. “Mr. Stark can...help you. With the suit. If you ask.” 

“Yeah.” Harley responds after a minute with a sigh, and he leans forward to pick his cup back up, disappointment rife in his voice. “I’m sure he will.” 


	8. Chapter 8

After a whole week passes without Harley turning up to any sessions in the lab, Peter begins to regret leaving the cafe so soon after the older boy had confessed how distracted he had been. He had tried texting him a couple times, but had no response, and it had sent more embarrassment through him than worry. After all, he didn’t really know Harley, or anything about him. He could be at college, work, busy with a girlfriend... The last option had been rife in Peter’s mind in the alone time he’d had, and it had become more and more likely. Perhaps he had read Harley’s signs wrong. Perhaps he wasn’t interested in the slightest, and was focusing on the work rather than on the kid two years younger than him that seemed to hang off his every word. 

That being said, Peter had decided to ignore the boy if, and when, he decided to turn up to a session. Mr. Stark hadn’t heard much from him, but he’d assured him he would let him know if Harley planned on turning up anytime soon. 

Right now seemed like the perfect time for a quick patrol before heading over to Mr. Stark’s for five. He’d had a half day at school, finished all of his homework by two, and was ready and crawling up the side of his building by three. 

The sun was high in the sky and beaming down on his back as he swung throughout the concrete jungle surrounding him. There were no crimes to be solved, only one small robbery in a corner shop on the way downtown. It was a strangely quiet Friday afternoon and as much as it sent shivers through Peter’s body, he soaked in as much of the peace as he could get. 

Granted, his Parker luck struck once again and had his senses vibrating when he was on his way back to Stark Tower. It was five already, and Mr. Stark had just texted him, asking him when he’d be over, and he’d replied with a quick ‘ _ten_ _minutes_ ’, while hurriedly swinging across town. 

If he was quick, he’d make a short detour and get back as soon as possible. He’d beat himself up if he ignored the gradually building tingling sensation at the back of his neck. 

His spider senses drew him to a dirty alleyway in between two old, looming buildings on the corner of a quiet street. It seemed fairly normal and, ignoring the stench of marijuana., Peter relaxed slightly. He’d been through this enough times to know it like a dance. 

Sure enough, when he crawled gently around the corner, a young boy was pressed up against the wall, still in his school uniform, and an older man was standing over him like a guard. It brought a wave of bile throughout his throat at the thought of a man stealing from someone so much younger than him. 

He made the decision to step in quickly, dropping down gracefully behind the man. The kid had spotted him, but the man was still rifling through his backpack, body hunched over.  

“Hey,” Peter called, sending a quick wink to the child. “Maybe you should try picking on someone your own size.” 

The man’s stature froze, and he let out an audible sigh before turning to face Peter. 

 _Oh god,_ Peter thought, and suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. _He only had three minutes before Mr. Stark was expecting him._

Perhaps, if Peter had been watching more closely, paying more attention to his spider senses, he’d have noticed the odd gleam in the man’s hand, and the almost bored look on his face. 

Immediately, Peter leaped into action, jumping straight between the child and the attacker. He blocked the kid with his body when the man’s face morphed into a snarl, and quickly ushered him behind him. 

_First mistake. Leaving his body exposed._

He quickly turned and pushed the boy gently to the other end of the alley, watching the kid run the other way. His spider senses begun to tingle rapidly and he quickly spun round to see the man leaping on him. 

_Second mistake. Turning his back on the attacker._

The man’s snarls were loud enough for Peter to hear them over Karen’s coaching, and he shook his head to avoid the distractions. Recently, his suit had been getting less and less sensory deprived, and he found his eyes unintentionally wandering to the stray cat watching from the top of the roof. 

_Last mistake. Letting himself become distracted._

He saw the knife before he felt it. Plunged deep into his stomach, the man didn’t hesitate in twisting it and bringing it out only to stab back into the flesh only inches from the original cut. The pain took a moment to catch up with Peter, but once the shock passed, he reacted. 

Agony seeped throughout his body as he jumped back. The man had run and Karen was shouting different things at him, telling him to apply pressure to the wound, and to call Mr. Stark, but he could only focus on the feeling of his exposed flesh reaching the outside air. His super healing was good, but it wasn’t this good. Peter risked passing out and leaving his body exposed to infections if he didn’t get the bleeding under control, and he didn’t fancy dying such an in honourable death. 

With a wail of pain, he lazily lifted his arm to point it in the direction of the wall. He ignored Karen’s advice to stop and call Mr. Stark to pick him up, and instead braced himself when the web propelled him forwards into the air. 

Blood gushed out of the wounds when he moved, and he was incredibly thankful that Stark Tower was in his view already. He painfully pulled himself up onto the roof of the building, and tried to make his way across the horizon whilst attempting to not aggravate the wounds further. 

It was going to be one hell of a journey across these buildings. 

—

FRIDAY’s voice greeted him when he finally managed to pull himself through one of the floors window. He couldn’t see how high up he was, and instead focused on alerting her that he was lying in the floor of a random guest bedroom, bleeding onto the expensive carpet. 

“F-FRI,” he choked out. “C-Call Mr. St-Stark.” 

“Boss,” FRIDAY replies, her voice monotone even as she projected her message to everywhere in the tower. Right now, worrying about other people hearing his cry for help was the least of his worries; Peter was brave, but he wasn’t stupid. “It seems Peter Parker is in severe distress.” 

A moment passed before FRIDAY spoke again. “His heart rate is elevated, his blood levels have dropped slightly, his temperature is fairly low.” She spoke quicker when Peter gasped, another wave of blood pulsating out of the wound. “Boss, it seems Peter is in need of severe medical attention.” 

It was only a few seconds before Peter heard her speak again and by this time he could hear Mr. Stark banging doors open down the corridor. “Peter Parker is in guest bedroom 4. He appears to have entered via the window.” 

The door to the room flew open, and Peter whined when Mr. Stark ran into the room, eyes wide. He spotted Peter almost immediately and ran to his side, immediately pushing his hand down onto the wound to stop the bleeding. 

“Kid,” he breathed out, eyes frantically searching the rest of his body. “How do you feel? You okay?” 

Peter nodded, oddly conscious despite the loss of blood. He supposed it had something to do with his healing, be it a curse or a gift. 

“Ripped straight through the flesh, torn muscles,” Mr. Stark mumbled to himself, making mental notes while he continued to study Peter’s face. “You’re so lucky Banner’s here tonight, Underoos.” 

Peter managed a weak smile when he heard another pair of footsteps. He barely registered Bruce hurrying into the room with a long board coated in a sheet and a blanket. 

“I planed it...right time.” He laughed, before choking off, spluttering blood down his shirt. 

“The wound’s not too bad, and it’ll heal, but I need to take this piece of shrapnel out of the wound before it starts to close.” Bruce explained, moving behind Peter to crouch by his ear. “However dirty the knife was, it may leave infections, and we need it closed as quickly as possible.” 

Peter didn’t like the sound of that. He’d fallen onto glass before and accidentally cut his finger open, wedging a small shard into the wound. The skin and flesh had stitched back together around the shard, and Mr. Stark had had to completely reopen his skin and take out the shard in order for it to heal properly. 

“Okay, Pete, I‘m Gonna pick you up and put you on this board, okay? You crawled into the right floor, yeah? There’s a small room full of supplies just down the corridor.” He motioned for Tony to grab hold of the boy’s legs, and gently picked him up, softly whispering apologies when whines left the kid’s lips. 

“I’m gonna need you to stay awake for this bit, okay, Pete?” Bruce said, and begun transporting him out of the room and down the corridor. Mr. Stark looked at him apologetically, carrying the board from the bottom. Peter knew he was light - spider DNA and all - but he couldn’t help the guilt flowing through him at the pained look on Mr. Stark’s face. 

“Alright, this is the room. I’m gonna need to start as soon as you’re down to get this piece of knife out, okay? If you feel faint or sleepy at any point, let Tony know okay?” 

“Mr...Stark.” Peter drawled out, letting his head loll to the side. He was tired, and not in the way that Bruce was worried about. He’d had a long day anyway, and although the pain was keeping him awake, he wanted nothing more than to sleep. 

“Okay.” Bruce said when they set the board down on a small table. He quickly retrieved a pillow from one of the drawers underneath and placed it behind Peter’s head. “I’m going to start prodding around the wound after I’ve quickly anaesthetised it. Is that okay?”

Peter just sleepily nodded and looked up to see Mr. Stark looking down at him, one of his calloused hands gently stroking through his curls. 

“You’re gonna give me a heart attack one day, kid.” 

Peter laughed while Bruce rubbed the area around the wound with an anaesthesia, slowly allowing the area to become numb. 

All the while, Tony kept a close eye on him to ensure he was awake. He continued asking him questions, stupid ones that he’d never been interested in, like Star Wars. 

“Okay, Pete.” Bruce announced, leaning in with a small pair of pliers and a piece of tissue. “Ready?”

Peter took a deep breath, and accepted the hand held out to him by Mr. Stark. His teeth ground into each other in preparation, and he tried to force his tense body to relax. 

“Ready.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not edited


	9. Chapter 9

The room is cold when Peter wakes up, even though he’s buried under several blankets. There’s little light from the window, so he assumes he must have passed out after Bruce had finished stitching him up and woken sometime around early morning. His mind immediately flicks to what he’d been doing, where his thoughts had been when he’d been stabbed, and he groans. He definitely owes his mentor an apology for being so stupid. 

“Mr. Stark?” Peter croaks out, turning his head to the right on the pillow. It’s dark, so Peter can’t make out the figure sitting on a chair near the bedside, but it’s curled in a ball, and is  _actually asleep._ Which, for Mr. Stark, was...odd, to say the least. 

“Mr. Stark.” He speaks, louder this time, and strains his eyes to see the figure slightly move. The shuffling stops as soon as it comes, and the body falls asleep again. Peter sighs, and decides that if it is in fact Mr. Stark on the chair, then he’d better let him sleep, considering how badly FRIDAY has informed him his sleeping habits had been recently. 

Peter’s hand travels to his stomach, feeling around the smooth skin until he reaches material. He presses against the bandage, and smiles when he only slightly winces. Sure, it was a scary incident, but with his fast healing, he’s confident he’ll be up and walking by this afternoon. 

He brings the hand up to his field of vision and observes the numbers on the small Stark watch adorning his wrist. It’s just turned 4 in the morning, which left plenty of time for Peter to sleep again before the light begun to enter through the blinds. 

As he closes his eyes, he’s jolted up by a sniffle, and he pauses, mid relaxation. The sniff was most definitely not coming from a mature man, and the small whimper that follows is higher than Peter’s sure Mr. Stark’s voice is capable of reaching. 

He turns his head gently, and watches as the figure sniffles again and sits up, shuffling its body round to lean against the opposite side. Peter watches as it settles, and he chokes out a small noise to show that he’s awake. 

The figure’s moving almost instantly, hovering near Peter’s bedside. It croaks slightly, resting back against the chair. 

“Peter? You awake?” 

 _Harley_. 

Peter takes a deep breath and whispers a _yes_ , watching as the figure reaches over and turns on the bedside light. He flinches back, eyes not accepting the immediate intrusion, and Harley quickly instructs FRIDAY to dim the lights. 

“Tony’ll be back in a minute. He had to go sort something out.” 

“For how long?” 

“He’s been gone about...” Harley stops and checks his battered iPhone. “Three hours. Asked me to watch you.” 

Peter nods, but keeps his eyes trained on the phone. For somebody with so much money, he’d have thought the older boy would have been able to afford a nicer phone, or at least pay to get it fixed. It’s odd, but Peter drops it when Harley begins to speak again. 

“Look, I‘m sorry.” 

His face is sincere, and he’s chewing slightly on his left thumb, refusing to make eye contact with Peter. In the dim light, he can’t make out any emotion is his dark green eyes, but the waver in his voice is as honest as Peter’s heard it. 

“For...?”

“For everything. For not answering your messages. For not coming to see you earlier. For being here, when I know you probably really want Tony...” 

He trails off, and brings his right leg to his chest. His cheek rests on it, looking to the side for a moment, before he turns his face and just watches Peter. His chin leans on his knee and his lips stretch into a thin line. 

“I kinda fucked it at the cafe, didn’t I?” 

Peter doesn’t answer. In actual fact, he’s tired and his muscles ache and he needs a bath, but he wants nothing more than to lie here, in the dim light of the dark morning, watching the way Harley’s eyes genuinely observe him like he’s the only other person in the world. It’s cliche, and Peter cringes even as he thinks it, but he feels so at home that he doesn’t even want to breathe in fear of screwing it up. 

“I guess you’ll have to make it up to me then.” He breathes, not even registering his own words. He doesn’t break eye contact with Harley, and the older boy watches him for a moment before laughing slightly. 

“Yeah,” he sighs, and goes back to observing the smaller boy. “I guess I will.” 

Peter smiles, in the delirious state of exhaustion, and turns his back to Harley. 

“Tuesday at 7. It’s a date.” 

He realises a moment too late what he’s said and freezes. Words travel up his throat and bang against the roof of his mouth, but he can’t find it in himself to open his lips. _Say something, say something!_

“Alright, Parker. It’s a date.” 

Peter grits his teeth and groans gently, heat rushing up his cheeks. He can’t believe those words escaped his mouth, not even in the state he’s in right now. The embarrassment floods through him, but Harley begins snoring from next to him, so he turns over again when he deems it safe. 

He’d forgotten to turn off the light, so Peter can see Harley’s face clearly as he sleeps. Perhaps it’s slightly creepy, but he watches Harley’s eyelashes flutter, and the way his chest rises and falls softly, and Peter freezes. 

Holy shit. 

He’s got a _date_. 


	10. Chapter 10

Saturday had been, for the most part, uneventful, and by the time evening was here and Peter was leaving, he was tired despite sleeping in till eleven that morning. It had been a ‘busy’ day of relaxing and watching movies before Mr. Stark had had to leave on a business meeting and Peter had been left alone with Harley. The older boy had attempted to make small talk with him, but Peter had shushed him in favour of watching the last half of Star Trek. 

“Do you need a lift home?” 

Blinking, Peter dragged his mind back to the present. He was sat atop the kitchen counter, legs crossed, chewing on a small sweet he’d stolen off the bowl in the middle of the table. Harley had finished shuffling through the fridge looking for food, and had exited empty handed after finding nothing to please his picky tendencies. 

“Aren’t you staying here?” 

Harley had previously stated that he had ‘business stuff’ to work on while Mr. Stark was away, and that he had let him use the office that was adjoined to the kitchen. From here, Peter could see that there were indeed multiple paper scattered on the table, but the uneasy waver in his voice when he’d said it made Peter’s stomach flip. 

“Yeah. Always time to take a friend home, though.” 

Peter’s stomach fluttered. Outside of Ned, and MJ, he’d never really had a proper friend. He found the company of the Avengers incredibly pleasing, but he wasn’t sure he could really call them his ‘friends’. 

“Honestly, it’s not too far to walk, I-”

”Pete.” Harley grabbed his jacket and began walking over to the elevator, leaving Peter scrambling behind him. “It’s fine.” 

“Besides, you never know who’s walking around at night. Especially not with that injury of yours. You seem to have forgotten you were _stabbed_ last night.” 

Peter bit his tongue and slightly winced, overplaying the injury as much as possible. He wasn’t sure how he’d be able to explain a stab wound healing up in twenty four hours. 

“Ground floor, please.” Peter spoke to FRIDAY, shuffling uncomfortably next to Harley. The boy had already pulled out a cigarette, and Peter’s heart dropped when he brought it to his lips and flicked the lighter against it. 

All of a sudden, Peter’s defiance that his awkwardness around Harley had diminished, was back, and he was left a choked mess trying not to tell the taller boy that if he smoked in here, it could set the fire alarm off. 

Thankfully, the elevator was quick, and Peter jumped at the opportunity to escape into the fresh air. 

The wind was cold, but he’d remembered a jacket this time, and was comfortable in the air waiting for Harley to finish his cigarette.

”You’re really weird, Parker.” 

The statement shot him in the heart, and he looked away quickly. He’d grown up his whole life being called weird or a freak, and the reminder of his childhood torment was like a kick to the stomach. 

“Not in a mean way.” He took a drag from the cigarette, and exhaled it through his mouth towards Peter. “You’re just hard to read.” 

Despite the pang in his heart, Peter managed a lighthearted scoff. “What, my aura’s dirty or something?” 

“No. You’re just a difficult person to read. Many layers. Like an onion.” 

Peter giggled, shutting his mouth immediately. His giggling was something people had always made fun of him for, for being too girly, and he’d _almost_ trained himself out of it. Harley smiled, and put out the cigarette on the floor underneath his boot, before pointing over to a Mercedes across the street. 

It wasn’t surprising that Harley had such an expensive car, but it didn’t stop his shock when he sunk down into the expensive leather and watched Harley put his phone in the middle of the console. Cracked and barely working, the light flickered when it turned on with an array of colours, revealing half of an old picture showing a small boy and a woman. Peter tried not to stare at how happy they both looked, ignoring the tightness in Harley’s jaw when he turned the phone around so it was face down. 

Deciding not to bring it up while Harley’s face looked like he was about to crash his expensive car (on purpose, mind you), Peter settled against the leather and watched the lights pass him by as the older boy pulled out of the parking spot and began driving down the street. Happy never allowed him to sit in the front seat, and May’s windows were stained more than half the time, so he relished in the crisp view of the frosty night city, looking up in awe as he sped out of the compound and onto the main street. 

“What, never been in a car before?” 

“I have.” Peter rolled his eyes. “Never up front in one this expensive.” 

Harley didn’t answer, but he didn’t move to turn the radio on, either. The two boys sat in a somewhat comfortable silence, watching the busy city pass by and not hearing a thing aside from their own breathing. 

“How old are you?” 

“What kind of question is that?” 

“A valid one.” Peter interjected, looking pointedly at him. “How old are you?” 

“I’m eighteen. I told you, you were weird.” 

Peter scoffed and turned back to the window, looking out at the city solemnly. They came to a red light, the entire road around them bustling with movement. 

“What about you?”

“Almost seventeen.”

It was an odd conversation. Surely, after spending so much time together, and Harley being so well know, they would have known how old the other was. But, when Peter stopped to think about it, he realised he barely knew anything about Harley Keener. When his birthday was, where he lived, what his favourite animal was... all the little things had been pushed under the radar in his confusion and stress these past few weeks, that he really didn’t know the boy driving him home well at all. 

“Key word, almost. You’re only a baby.” 

Harley laughed and Peter’s heart fluttered. He managed to steal a glance at the older boy, watching in fascination as his eyes and nose crinkled. The light turned green, reflecting in his eyes, and Peter smiled. How gorgeous.

“Am not.” 

“That just proves to me that you _are_ , in fact, a baby, sweetheart.” 

Peter felt his heart race and he looked away, cheeks already flushing red. If Harley noticed, he didn’t say anything, and Peter was grateful for that.

“I’m a Sagittarius. My favourite colour’s orange. I eat lucky charms for breakfast, and I have a collection of Iron Man figures in the back of my wardrobe.” 

Peter looked at him, wide eyed, to see Harley smiling at him from the corner of his eye. 

“What? You’re trying to make small talk - I’m not about to shut you down.” 

Peter breathed out and shuffled his fingers on his lap. He hadn’t expected the older boy to return his efforts, and the fact he was attempting to start a conversation was amazing in itself. 

“Well? What about you?” 

“I have an Iron Man mask. Showed it to Mr. Stark and he took a photo of it and framed it. My favourite colour’s red. I’m an Aries.” 

Harley jumped in his seat, luckily keeping  his hands on the steering wheel as he pulled into Peter’s street. 

“That means we’re compatible!”

“Huh?” 

“Our star signs.” Harley said, rolling his eyes like Peter was stupid for not knowing. “Aries and Sagittarius are, like, 90% compatible.” 

“You’re a huge geek, you know that?” 

Harley laughed, and stopped the car across the street from Peter’s apartment.

“Not as much as you, Parker.” 

Peter smiles, lips closed, and opens the car door. 

“Thank you, by the way. How much do I-”

“You don’t need to pay me, Pete. It’s all good.” 

Peter smiles in gratitude, quickly jogging across the street to his apartment. The light was on, right up on the fourth floor, and he gazed up at it before walking up the stairs, turning quickly to wave goodbye to Harley. 

The boy hadn’t moved, and was instead just watching Peter. If it hadn’t been for his relaxed demeanour and facial expression, Peter would have been a little unnerved, but he smiled at him reassuringly and waved slightly in farewell. 

“Bye.” Peter mouthed and opened the door, not risking turning to say goodbye again in fear of catching his eye. He’s not sure his cheeks could handle anymore blood flushing through them. 

Once inside the building, Peter smiled and breathed out. How amazing, indeed. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> not edited. written at 1am. filler chapter. irondad dump. really shit. love that.

“Pass me the screwdriver, please?” 

Peter murmurs incoherently against the desk, pushing his face lazily off the table to walk over to where Mr. Stark was waiting with his hand outstretched. 

“FRI, what time is it?” He moans, rubbing the drool away from his mouth. His eyes sting from where he’s keeping them awake, and he passes Tony the screwdriver with a yawn. 

“3:37am on Monday morning, Peter.” 

Peter sighs, returning to his place on the desk. He whines uncomfortably when Mr. Stark jumps from his seat, almost knocking over the empty cup of coffee to the left of him. 

“Peter! Why didn’t you tell me? FRIDAY?” 

“You told me not to disturb you, sir.” FRIDAY answers, and Peter tiredly giggles at the annoyed look that Tony shoots the ceiling. 

“Kid, you could have told me you were tired.” 

“Didn’t want to disturb you.” Peter mumbles, still drooling against the desk. He’d had a busy day yesterday trying to distract himself from patrolling, and it had completely worn him out by the time May dropped him off at Tony’s. He was only grateful that he had a week off from school, so he needn’t worry about getting up early later on.

“Your welfare isn’t a disturbance. C’mon, up.”

Peter whines, lazily lifting his arms towards Tony. The older man sighs, and bends down so that Peter can climb clumsily onto his back. He’s light, spider DNA and all, and Tony’s still relatively fit, so they manage towards the guest bedroom just fine. 

Peter’s not even sure he can call it a guest bedroom anymore. He has more clothes here than he’d ever had at May’s, and the walls are covered in random pictures he’d taken, or small things he’d achieved. He saved the important ones for his bedroom at home, but the multiple decathlon certificates helped brighten up the room slightly. 

“Mr. Stark...” Peter drags out, pressing his cheek to his mentors back. They’ve entered the room, and Tony’s gently lowering Peter to the bed when he makes a squeak of disturbance. 

“Don’t drop me.” 

“Wasn’t even close to dropping you, kid.” 

Peter laughs softly, snuggling his face up against the pillow. Tony sits at the edge of his bed, watching him for a moment. When Peter opens his eyes, the older man is smiling gently at him. 

“Are you sure this is all working out, Pete? I feel like we haven’t had a chance to talk properly, what with Harley sticking around and all.” 

“He’s fine, Mr. Stark. He’s...great.” Peter murmurs, his eyes slipping closed again. Tony laughs quietly above him, his hands dropping onto the bed. 

“You seem to like him, at least?” 

His tone is questioning, and Peter forces his sleep deprived brain to forge an answer for how he felt about Harley that was as far from the truth. The only thing that comes out of his mouth is embarrassingly honest, despite his laboured attempts at denying it. 

“We’re going out tomorrow.” Peter pauses to yawn, pressing his face further into the pillow. “I like him. He’s pretty.” 

Peter can already sense the moment that Mr. Stark freezes, for his hand stops its uncomfortable drumming on the mattress. Peter’s eyes shoot open, forcing his body through the tired sludge of exhaustion, and he hurriedly begins to babble apologies and denials. 

“No, I didn’t mean that - Mr. Stark, he’s -not great - he is, no, I-”

”Pete. Relax.” 

Mr. Stark presses a gentle hand on his chest, guiding him back down to the bed. Peter’s heart is going a mile a minute, and he shuffles uncomfortably with unnerved twitches. 

“I didn’t know you liked him. Like, at all.” 

He ends the sentence with a wary laugh, his eyes still watching Peter carefully. 

“Harley’s a good kid. He’s got a lot of baggage, Pete, and I don’t want you feeling like you have to like him for either of our sakes.” 

Peter shakes his head, breathing still laboured. He’s still tired; the pillow draws him in closer with every breath, and he needs Mr. Stark to understand what he was trying to say. 

“No, it’s not - Mr. Stark, he’s great, I-” he takes a deep breath, and tries again. “He’s confusing. But I think he likes me. In whichever way.” He adds warily. 

“He’s nice. Sometimes.” Peter continues, eyes still darting worriedly. His breathing has slowed, though, so he allows himself to lie back slightly. “He just...I don’t know, Mr. Stark. I barely know him. He’s so...sad.” 

He says the last part softly, eyes dropping. Mr. Stark pats him gently on the knee, voice pitying. 

“I know, Pete. You’re a good kid, and so is he. I’m sure he’ll speak to you on his own terms.” 

Peter’s not sure how to take that sentence. He’s not sure he’s prepared to deal with the baggage Harley comes with, but the thought is quickly dismissed when he remembers how the light falls through the older boy’s eyelashes and onto his cheeks, and how he’d laughed when Peter had called him a geek. His heart swells when he remembers how easily Harley had agreed to meeting him tomorrow, and he smiles up at Mr. Stark when he finally lays down. 

“You’re not mad?” 

“Of course I’m not mad, kid.” Tony shushes him, pulling up the duvet around the teenagers neck. He sighs out and stands, leaning over to flick the switch that turns off the light in the middle of the room. 

“Night, kid.” 

Tony walks to the door, holding it open with one hand as he looks back on the nearly-asleep teenager. He catches Peter smiling droopily, eyes gently fluttering closed as he breathes out softly. 

“Night, Mr. Stark.” 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is so short i’m literally crying but it’s been in my drafts for like a week and i need it out because i’m excited for the next chapter, okay? okay.

Peter stares down at his phone, wincing through the early November sunlight at the text he’d received earlier that day. Central Park was by no means a unique place to meet people, but it’s a lot different than what Peter would have thought Harley would have picked. Nonetheless, he sighs and tucks his hands into his coat pocket, tipping on the balls of his feet as he waits for the older boy in the cold. 

There’s an ice rink to his left, busy in the seven o’clock rush, and the smell of warm food reaches him when he inhales. The air smells otherwise crisp and cold, and Peter relaxes his shoulders. He’s been tense about this ‘date’ ( _could he call it that?_ ) for the past thirty two hours and he’s about ready to burst with anxiety while the clock ticks past.  

He hears Harley before he sees him. The boy is walking towards him clutching a small box in his left hand, and his broken phone in his right. He calls out Peter’s name, excited and happy as he walks briskly towards him. His hair is messy and knotty, and his left cheek is slightly red, but Peter’s more interested in the jacket around his shoulders. 

Maybe it’s a preference. Maybe it’s the way the jacket compliments Harley’s bright eyes. Peter knows one thing for sure - he’s never been more attracted to a person wearing a leather jacket than right now. 

He’s practically drooling by the time Harley stops in front of him, his eyes trained on the way the jacket hugs his shoulders. He raises his eyebrows in greeting, barely able to tear his gaze away from Harley’s biceps. 

“Hi.” 

Harley laughs at his awkwardness, and shoves the box and his phone into the pockets of the jacket. “Hi to you, too.”

“So,” Harley continues, his eyes honest as they lock with Peter’s unfaltering gaze. “We _were_ gonna go ice skating. I thought it would have been really fun, but what with your injury and all, I...” 

“Didn’t want you to get hurt again.” 

If Peter was a normal teenager, he’s sure his erratic heartbeat would have killed him by now. He’s stuck in place, barely able to give Harley a watery smile when he gently pats his shoulder. The stab wound barely hurts, and it was more than half healed now, but the fact that Harley even cares means more to him than anything. He can’t help the warm feeling in his chest that overcomes him when he looks back up. 

“It’s my best friends birthday tonight. He’s having a party a few blocks from here, and he said I was fine to bring a friend or two.” Harley smiles. “I only have you. Will you be my plus one?” 

Peter’s shaking. He’s actually, physically shaking, and he can’t get his words out. He’s fucking _Spider-Man,_ and he’s left gobsmacked by a boy he barely even liked in the beginning. Harley Keener is stood in front of him, asking him to be his plus one, in a _fucking leather jacket_. Peter doesn’t even have the heart to be sad about their ‘date’ being ruined. 

“Yes.” He says, a little too quickly. “Yes, I’d love to.” 

“Okay.” Harley replies, grinning. He gently grabs Peter’s hand, squeezing it softly. “I promise I’ll make it up to you. I haven’t forgotten about our date.” 

Peter smiles weakly, feeling a wave of disappoint wash over him when he recognises the lack of physical contact. It’s not there for much longer, however, as Harley puts an arm around his shoulders and starts to lead him towards the gates on the East side of the park. 

“I didn’t come here by car.” He says, when they reach the gates. There’s a sleek black motorcycle in front of them, adorned by two black helmets. Peter’s never been on a motorbike before, so the anxiety that hits him in the stomach comes quicker than he would have expected. 

Harley’s thumb is gently stroking Peter’s collarbone when he falters slightly, gently reminding him that there was someone next to him. 

“Hey, it’s okay. We’ll go nice and slow, you’ll love it. Promise.” 

He holds out his pinky, and Peter laughs under his breath. He links his pinky with Harley’s, holding onto the gentle feeling before the older boy is dragging him excitedly to the bike, babbling the whole way, even as they do up their helmets, and strap in.  

When they’re seated, Harley turns and smiles widely at Peter. He wiggles his eyebrows, and Peter’s so glad he’s holding tightly onto Harley’s waist because he’s damn well sure he’d be floating if not.

He’s weak, and when he looks up at Harley through his eyelashes and the older boy swallows deeply, he accepts the fact that he’s absolutely besotted with Harley Keener, and he’s one hundred percent fine with that. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not proof read x

“Here we are.” 

The party is loud and bustling, people dancing and throwing up on the lawn all the way down to the curb. Peter can hardly hear Harley from over the music and the sounds of people screaming happily, so he just grins, and squeezes his hand. 

Harley had slipped his palm into Peter’s when he had faltered back. They’d just parked the motorcycle outside, and Peter had showed his anxiety of the huge house in the way he started biting his lips, and the shaking in his hands. 

Peter’s head had swooned, but the euphoria he’d felt when Harley’s large hands had engulfed his was quickly washed away by the overwhelming panic he felt when he watched a girl falter over and vomit onto the front lawn. 

“Yeah,” Harley said, cringing, and moving Peter away from the commotion. “You’ll get used to that.” 

Peter raises an eyebrow, biting on his bottom lip. 

“I’ve never...” he trails off, fingers bustling anxiously against each other. “Been to a party. Like ever. Well, I went to a girl called Liz’s but I had to leave early, like really early, like I was only there for five minutes. I never even ate anything, do they have food here, or is it just alcohol? Do people get drunk quicker if they don’t eat?” 

Peter stops when he sees Harley watching him in amusement. He quickly presses his lips shut and bows his head in embarrassment, biting the inside of his cheek when he watches another person fall over onto the grass. There’s people lying down all over, and if he couldn’t focus enough to hear the heartbeats of those around him, he’d feel worried they weren’t alive. 

“Pete,” Harley squeezes his hand, and pulls him closer to the house. “Stop rambling. You’re okay. It’s gonna be fun!” 

He looks so excited that Peter just can’t argue with him. There’s a feeling of dread somewhere inside of him, so conflicting that he’s unsure of whether it’s general anxiety or something deeper. Nonetheless, he smiles awkwardly back at Harley, and nods. 

“Okay. Let’s go in, then?” 

-

The house is even louder inside, something Peter wasn’t sure was even possible. There’s people dancing; quick, odd dancing, that Peter knows would have been frowned upon had everyone been sober. The smell of alcohol and sweat is increasingly overwhelming, and he winces as Harley lets go of his hand and leans forward to greet his friend. 

“Nath!” He yells, clumsily wrapping one arm around the boy in front of him. 

‘Nath’ is a taller, skinny boy with hair that Peter finds amusingly similar to the colour of Tony’s arc reactor. He smells deeply of alcohol, and Peter watches awkwardly as they do a round of a clumsy handshake. 

“And who’s your friend?” Nath asks, nodding his head toward Peter. He looks him up and down, once, twice, before nodding slightly and looking behind his shoulder. 

“Nath, this is Peter.” Harley smiles, genuine and gorgeous. His hand finds its way around Peter’s shoulders, squeezing the opposite bicep gently. “Peter, this is Nathan.” 

Peter extends a hand for Nathan to shake, only for the taller boy to pull him into a hug. Peter stumbles, shocked, and resists the tight bear hug that reeks of sweat and vodka. 

When he releases him, Harley lets out a somewhat awkward laugh.

”Yeah, he’s very...comfortable.” 

Peter looks at him, questioningly, to elaborate, but before he can there’s a shot in his hand and fingers on his waist. 

He jerks back from the touch, spinning quickly to see a girl around his height looking expectingly at him with raised eyebrows. Her ponytail swings as she bobs her head, fringe sweaty as she grins. 

“Go on,” she urges, and Peter watches Harley drink his own out of the corner of his eye. He barely flinches. “It’s only vodka.” 

Peter glances at Harley once, who meets him with a reassuring smile, before deciding to bite the bullet and quickly drink the shot. The second the vodka reaches his tongue, he’s retching, holding it in his mouth while shivering. 

“Pete, swallow it!” 

He does as he’s told, gulping down the vile substance in one go. It burns through his throat and his chest, an uncomfortable ache in his throat from where he’d hurriedly swallowed it. He gags, holding a hand over his mouth to prevent throwing up.

Harley presses his lips together while everybody around him laughs. He looks up, swallowing nervously, only to find a small group around him laughing at his inability to handle alcohol. He glares, and spins quickly to grab another shot. 

The second one goes down slightly easier, but he still cringes and this only spurs his desire to maintain his invisible reputation. He doesn’t gag on the third. 

By the seventh shot, he’s actually kind of enjoying the warm feeling the vodka leaves in his chest. Harley gently pulls on his fingers, dragging him away from the tray the girl’s holding, half full of shots, and leans down to whisper in his ear over the music. 

“Maybe you should slow down, Pete.” 

Peter scrunches up his face, rolling his eyes. 

“I’m fine. They’re only little, barely any alcohol.” 

Harley laughs out loud, forcing Peter to burst into a fit of giggles. The two boys laugh together, causing a few people to move away from them in annoyance. Harley straightens first, catches the eye of something over Peter’s shoulder, and shakes his head. 

“They’re small because they’re pure alcohol, Pete.” He shakes his head again, still smiling, and pats the smaller boy once on the shoulder. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Can I trust you to be good here?” 

He laughs, but Peter winces, biting on the inside of his cheek. Harley was the only thing familiar in this whole house, and when he moves away, waving at someone behind Peter, the wave of anxiety he’s so used to suddenly crashing over him.

“Harley, wait!” 

Harley doesn’t stop, already lost under the crowd of sweaty bodies and spilt alcohol. Peter sighs, sinking into himself, and watches another girl throw up into the sink. 

It was going to be a long night.

-

As it turns out, vodka tastes...alright. At least, that is, when you’re smashed out of your mind and can barely walk straight.

It had been about two hours since Peter had last seen Harley. He’d seen a fleeting glimpse of the older boy taking a shot with a girl, but he’d quickly been swept up in whatever he was doing at the time. 

Right now, he was dancing with anybody he found applicable, laughing and stumbling while he tried to see straight. He’d moaned about being dizzy so much that he’d forgotten what it was like to have a clear mind, but he couldn’t say he bothered too much about it. 

He couldn’t _think_. Harley was so complicated that Peter found every time he was with him, his mind was working overdrive to keep up with what was going on. Harley was too much of a complex person for Peter to keep up with, and he’d strained his mind beyond normal capabilities more than once. 

Now, however...now was different. There was absolutely nothing in his mind besides pure bliss and the bottle of gin in his hand. He’d been advised not to mix his drinks, but he found himself flirting with so many different bottles that nice that he couldn’t remember what he’d tasted and what he hadn’t. 

Right now, he’s being pulled towards a table, where a crowd of people are milling around, cheering. He lets his mind wander sadly to the absence of Harley by his side, before he downs the gin again and turns his attention to the gathering. 

He pushes through clumsily, giggling as an older boy to his right grabs hold of his elbow to keep his legs from buckling. He holds it a moment too long, but Peter shrugs him off and peers through the gap of people in front of him. 

There’s a girl lying on the kitchen counter, stripped down to her bra and jeans, laughing as a boy leans down over her stomach. Peter strains his eyes and winces through the haze to see the boy sucking alcohol out of the girl’s naval. He laughs, which sends another round of cheers over the crowd, and the boy pulls back to continue upwards. 

 _It’s Harley_. 

Peter knows it as soon as he sees the back of his head properly, could recognise his side profile out of a sea of brown haired, handsome boys. He’s got that same shit eating grin on his face he wore the day he met Peter, and it’s hard to suppress the urge to slap it off of his face. 

The boy - Harley - moves so he’s standing directly above the girl. In almost an instant, her hands are clutching the front of his shirt and pulling him down harshly to meet her. 

Peter can see him push the alcohol into her mouth even from here. Their tongues mix together in a movement not uncanny to a salsa routine, all the while the crowd cheers and screams. Harley pulls back for only a second to grin, before initiating another full blown kiss with the mystery girl. He’s going back in for a third one when Peter turns and storms clumsily out of the crowd, pushing people away with what little strength he has left. The gathering surges and pushes back, signalling another couple taking place on the table, and Peter feels sick. 

 _Couple_. That was a game he would have thought would have been played by couples. How could he have been so stupid? 

Perhaps he doesn’t have a right to be so upset, but he thinks back to how Harley had agreed that this was a ‘date’, and how he’d held his hand so tightly in the lawn Peter’s now crouching on. He doesn’t know how he got here, on the floor, but he knows he can’t see through his eyes, and it’s not due to the alcohol anymore. 

He rubs the tears away furiously, listening to the commotion inside. Everybody outside is either passed out or too drunk to notice him, so he sits on his feet and cries into the bottle of gin he’s still holding. 

He grunts angrily and gets to his feet. Harley never liked him. His drunken mind can’t comprehend why he ever thought he did, but he only feels furious. He’s been led on, by himself, and by Harley, and he’s _embarrassed_. 

“Pete! Hey!” 

Usually Peter would have just ignored him, acted normal until he got home, and cried himself to sleep. Now though, it’s three o’clock in the morning, and Peter’s drunk, sleep deprived, and infuriated. He can’t stop himself from acting out. 

“Don’t - h-hey me!” He grits his teeth, trying to stop the hiccups on his words. 

Harley leans forward to grab his hand again, and he pulls back so furiously he spins and stops facing the road. Playing it off like it was supposed to happen, he starts angrily storming towards the curb, accidentally stepping on someone’s fingers as he goes. The road is quiet, and deserted, so he didn’t hesitate to start marching down the road with tears rolling down his cheeks. 

“Peter, stop! What’s gotten into you?” 

“What’s gotten in - to me?” He spins, furious. Harley’s stopped a couple feet away from him, and Peter’s intent on keeping that distance. “Y-You’re the one who was d-devouring that girl!” 

Harley’s face softens, but his eyes harden. He presses his lips together and lets out a deep breath.

“You said you’d stay with me!” Peter continues. He doesn’t know if Harley said that, but he hopes to God he had. “You said it was a - date!” 

He almost screams the last word, but it instead comes out as a whisper. The tears are rolling freely, whether from anger or sadness, but he doesn’t care to stop them. Harley doesn’t make a move to comfort him, so Peter scoffs and turns on his heel again. 

“Pete, stop-”

Peter throws the bottle of gin he has, right at Harley’s feet. His aim is usually better, but he can’t see and he’s _so_ upset. The older boy jumps back in shock, his face morphing into an angry expression. 

“Peter, what the-”

“Leave...me alone!” He slurs out, turning once again. Harley doesn’t follow him, so he continues to walk, sobs still erupting from his body. 

“Peter, you can’t walk home alone. Let me call Tony.” 

Peter scoffs over his shoulder, stumbling down the road without his phone, or his keys. 

“I don’t n-need your help.” 

With that, Peter walks off and ignores any attempts Harley makes at calling him back. He doesn’t know where he’s going, and he’s upset and drunk and angry, so he can’t really turn up at Mr. Stark’s. It would be embarrassing; not to mention completely unfair. 

Nonetheless, that’s where he finds himself headed, tripping over his own feet and still crying; but at least with a solid destination in mind. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi it’s me so this chapter has been sitting in my drafts for AGESSS and i just had to get it out. i ain’t gonna lie to u, i didn’t like writing it, idk why. enjoy, next chapter should be better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also tony & peter seem SUPER OOC in this and idk. sorry :’)

The tower is quiet when he finally stumbles through the front doors, the lights dim and low. He welcomes the lack of sensory overload, groaning into his hand. 

He’s finally somewhat woken up, the tears in his eyes dry and itchy. He supposes it’s the swelling settling in, but he rubs at them anyway. 

He’s about to raise his voice to ask FRIDAY to call Tony, but there’s a shuffling from a door ahead of him before he has the chance. 

“ _Peter_?” 

He looks up in alarm, barely able to stop himself gasping. Apparently his spider sense doesn’t work drunk. 

Mr. Stark is standing in a t-shirt and some patterned pants, but he’s holding a screwdriver, and the bags under his eyes tell Peter he hasn’t just woken him up. Good. He doesn’t need another thing to feel shit about. 

“Mr. Stark!” 

“Peter, kid,” Tony says worriedly, running a hand through his hair as he hurries over to where Peter’s standing, shuffling on his feet in the middle of the empty lower floor. “I told you, you’re always welcome here, but I’d at least like a warning if it’s gonna be at four o’clock in the morning.” 

Peter hums, but doesn’t say anything; Tony leans in cautiously, eyeing the red rim of his eyes. Peter’s knees buckle, and he stumbles up, fresh tears springing to his eyes.

“Are you _drunk_?” 

Peter doesn’t answer, biting his lip. It’s enough to soften Tony’s expression, but his lips tighten together. 

“Peter, what the hell? We talked about this.”

Peter doesn’t know what to say to that, so he whines and sputters out apologies like they’re pennies. He’s quickly working himself up, crying heavily and blurting out words that slur together in a jumbled, alphabet mess. Tony looks taken aback, like he’s unsure of what to do, until Peter’s legs give out, weak and unstable, and he’s tumbling to the floor.

He sits, gangly legs awkwardly spread out around him, and cries into his hands. They’re warm, so it provides him no comfort, but it helps him forget that he’s tipsy and crying in front of his mentor at four A.M.  

Tony’s kneeling with him on the floor, unsure of what to do with his hands or where to avert his eyes when Peter confidently sobs his heart out. The boy’s hardly ever cried like this in front of him, and when he had, it had only been for good reason. 

“Pete...” He trails off, watching the teenager’s breath falter. “Kid, you gotta tell me what’s going on.”

Peter scrambles his hands at his own t-shirt, pulling the material like it’ll break under his strength. It should have done, but he’s weak and upset, and he’d never been able to control his emotions well, so it pulls back against him until it snaps from his fingertips. 

“Stupid, stupid, stupid.” He mumbles, still sobbing. The anger at Harley has faded into a disappointed view of himself, and his heart breaks all over again. _He’s_ the one at fault. 

“I thought he-” He cries, fisting his hands in his hair. “I thought he liked me!” 

“Like, liked me, Mr. Stark!” He continues. The slurring has stopped, as his body starts to come back online, but he still stumbles over the repetition in the sentence. 

“I thought he _loved_ me.”

Tony freezes from where he was busying his thumb stroking small circles into Peter’s knee. He looks at the smaller boy like he’s grown three heads, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He only continues, still crying, but ever so honest and completely out of his depth. 

“You know, I _hated_ him, he was horrible, and he-” 

Maybe his words are true, but it doesn’t stop his mind conjuring up tortuous images of Harley’s large hand covering his, grounding him into the party when he’d been overrun with anxiety. 

“I don’t know, Mr. Stark.” He confesses, twiddling with his fingertips like it’ll distract him from reality. It doesn’t, but it helps remind him that he’s still alive. 

“Peter, what’s happened? You’re talking gibberish, underoos.” 

Peter scoffs, laughing as he wipes at his face. The light doesn’t really meet his eyes, but the tears are slowing, and Tony takes that as a win. 

“Peter, is this about Harley?” 

There’s the slightest hint of a wince at the name, providing Tony with all the answers he needs to know without Peter having to utter a word. 

“Peter, come on.” He trails off, pulling the teenager’s hands away from where he’s chewing on them. He looks sad, and worn out, and his eyes are darting around like he’s confused. 

“What happened?” 

“We were at a party.” He blurts our, voice wet and strained through the tears streaming down his cheeks. “Yeah, and he held my hand because I was nervous, and he said it would be alright.” 

“This girl gave me some shots. I didn’t see him again for, like, four hours? Maybe? I don’t know what time it is.” 

Tony nods, still tracing dysfunctional patterns on Peter’s knee to calm him down. 

“I thought he really liked me. I found him kissing some girl, I don’t know, it’s stupid.” Peter admits, scrunching his nose up. He shakes his head, unclenching and clenching his hands into fists. “It’s stupid, I’m stupid. I shouldn’t have just assumed that he liked me, I guess.” 

“Pete, I know you feel like this is the end of everything, but it really isn’t.” Peter looks up, waiting for Tony to continue. His eyes flick to the side, awkwardly, and he breathes out heavily. 

“Harley’s a good kid. You know that, I know that. Sure, he’s fucked up,” Peter jolts, and Tony smiles back at him, softly. “But I know that he’ll talk to you.” 

As if proving a point, Tony pulls out his phone and points it towards Peter’s face, the screen showing an array of text messages covering it. He doesn’t even need to look at the contact details to know who it is. 

_tony is peter with you?_

_did he get home?_

_ca you check on him_

_tony i fucked up big time_

_pls tell peter to text me_

“Pete, I’ve known Harley a long time. I don’t really know the relationship you two have, but you’re young.” Tony pats a hand on Peter’s knee until the teenager smiles up at him. “And I’m old. Let’s get off this floor before I break my back, or something.” 

Peter jumps up, head spinning slightly as he moves. He supposes his metabolism had just sped through the alcohol when he’d finally had the chance to sit, so he makes his way to the elevator with Mr. Stark easily enough. 

“You staying here tonight, kid?” 

“If it’s okay?” Peter chews at his cheek, leaning against the wall. 

“‘Course. It’s always okay.” 


	15. Chapter 15

“Mr. Stark?” 

Peter blinks his eyes open blearily in the dimly lit room, wincing at a sudden throbbing pain in his head. He frowns, rubbing at his forehead and turns onto his side, eyes closing with an exhausted sigh. 

“Tony?” 

Peter jumps, eyes peeling open again when he realises the voice isn’t coming from his own lips. He takes the time to look around the room, a large bedroom he’s spent almost every weekend in since he met Mr. Stark, and sits up with a hand to his head. 

He’s sweating, head throbbing, and his throat feels tight and dry, like he’s slept for two days and can’t keep up with this constant dehydration. His stomach churns when he pulls his legs over the side of the bed, wincing and swaying when he gets to his feet. The room’s spinning around him, like that rollercoaster MJ had dragged him and Ned onto. They’d gotten off, shaking and white, only to face MJ’s constant teasing about how he was, quote, _“fucking spider-man, and you can’t handle a rollercoaster?”_

Chuckling quietly to himself, he pushes himself to the glass situated on the bedside table, forgetting all about the voice downstairs, and the throbbing in his head which he isn’t entirely sure is _only_ from the alcohol. 

He takes a sip from the water, and then another, eyes closing for a minute to savour the feeling. Taking a deep breath, he puts the glass back down besides his phone, and heads out of the door. He doesn’t take the phone. 

“Mr. Stark?” It’s from his lips, this time, and he can hear a slight murmur from underneath the floor, slightly in front of him where the hallway opens out into a double stairway into the living room below. 

Hands trailing on the wall, and then the rail, he walks towards where the stairway opens below a glass balcony, head spinning slightly as he stops at the top of the stairs. He closes his eyes, wincing as he comes into view of the daylight from the floor to ceiling window in front of him. 

“Mr. Stark?” He mumbles, raising his voice to project down the stairway. “My head _kills_.” 

He hears someone breathe, thankful that his senses haven’t somehow stopped working, and Tony walks into his vision, staring up at him from in between the two stairways. 

“Sleeping beauty awakes,” he comments, but his eyes are flickering back and forth,  up to Peter and back again. “Maybe you should go back to bed, kid.” 

“Why?” Peter opens his eyes, making his way to the right stairway which opens his vision right into the living room, the sofa and TV clearly visible from where it’s situated on the furthest away wall. 

He steps down halfway, mumbling and muttering to himself, before his ears catch another pair of footsteps before his eyes do. 

There’s another figure coming to stand next to Tony, slightly taller and skinnier. He’s still wearing the same clothes he was last night, and there’s a look on his face Peter wants to slap off. 

Harley. 

_Because of-fucking-course it is._

He rolls his eyes, immediately turning and walking straight back up the stairs, ignoring the swirling in his head when he spins too quickly. 

“Pete, wait-”

He shouldn’t. 

He really, really shouldn’t.

He does. 

“What?” He spins back around, spite spilling from his lips before he can stop it. “What could you possibly want? And don’t even think about calling me Pete again.” 

Even Harley looks taken aback, glancing warily at Tony only for a second. His mentor looks up at Peter, stood on the stairs, head spinning, but so, so confident. He knows exactly what he needs to say, what he needs to do, and he stands with an eyebrow raised like there’s nothing in this fucking world that could shake him. 

Tony smiles slightly and nods at him. He leaves for the kitchen without another word, happy that Peter can defend himself - not from a super villain, but from a teenage boy with hazel coloured eyes and cheeks so rosy he almost has to laugh. 

“I, um,” Harley starts, stuttering and blinking as Peter starts descending the stairs towards him. “I don’t-”

“Why did you come here if you didn’t know what to say? Did you expect me not to say anything?” 

Harley doesn’t answer, only shifts on his feet, eyes frozen to Peter’s face. He looks hot, adorable, and downright fucking scary, eyes narrowed and one eyebrow raised at him. 

“Did you expect me just to forgive you?” He continues, almost at the bottom of the stairs. “You expected me just to fall at your feet and suck you off like every other fucking girl you’ve pulled along? Because, let’s be honest, you ain’t going for a boy, are you?” 

He’s going too far. He knows it, Harley knows it. The taller boy even physically  _steps back_ , face hurt and confused as Peter reaches the bottom step. He steps off, mouth spilling word vomit like he’s unable to stop it, spewing venom and hate like it’s his personality. 

“Ever since I fucking met you, nothing’s been the same. You’ve made me feel like shit ever since we made _fucking eye contact,_ you get it?” He’s breathing heavy now, head spinning, tears pricking at his eyes before he can stop them. 

“Peter, c’mon-” Harley starts, voice breaking. 

He should stop. 

Really, he should wind his fucking neck in and _stop_. 

But he can’t. 

“I really thought, ‘oh, he’d change’. ‘Oh, he’ll start being nice to me when he realises I’m trying to vine for his attention at every fucking corner’. ‘Oh, he’ll start being nice to me when he realises how much I love him even though he’s a massive dickhead with no’-”

Harley’s eyes widen and Peter chokes on his words, swallowing harshly like it’ll pull the words right out of the air and back into his throat. 

All of a sudden, the world’s too hot, too heavy, and the room’s spinning and spinning and spinning and Harley’s talking and Peter can’t breathe and his vision’s blurry and- 

“You love me?” Harley says finally, his voice dripping in hurt and something Peter can’t place. His eyes are squinted, but his shoulders have relaxed, and he takes a step towards Peter only for the younger teen to flinch away. 

“No,” he mumbles, watching the hurt grow in Harley’s face. “I did.” 

He doesn’t say anything else, eyes tearing away from the pained expression on Harley’s face. It pulls at his heart, tearing through his throat and he wishes, oh god he wishes, he could take everything back but he can’t and it’s out in the open and-

He turns, ignoring Harley’s shouts, of his name, of confusion, and runs shakily out of the room, stumbling as he launches himself down the stairs towards the lobby. 

It’s only when he gets to the front doors and throws himself forward into the dropping temperature, snow lightly covering the ground and still falling, that he allows himself to cry because, _man_. 

He’s really fucked up this time. 


	16. Chapter 16

It’s snowing, flakes heavy and thick as they land on Peter’s oversized t-shirt, gently soaking the material into his skin. It graces into his cheeks, soft and light as he cries into the early morning air. 

It’s silent, something he’s always prided snow on being, and his sobs rip through it like a tear in velvet. He’s the only one sad enough to be out this time, and perhaps, Harley is too. 

He doesn't remember it being this cold last night, but he’s shivering into his arms, the cold seeping right through his socks and through his flesh within minutes. He’s barefoot, wearing socks, an old t-shirt of Tony’s and the same pair of boxers he had worn yesterday. Not to mention, he’s sobbing into the morning, loud and ugly because there’s no one but the loyal silence of the snow to judge him. 

He takes a deep breath in, shuddering and sobbing into the open with the ferocity of a heartbreak. 

He doesn’t even know why he’s crying. Because Harley found out? Because Harley had even come to the tower in the first place? Because, for the past month, he’s been pining after someone he’ll never, ever have a chance with? 

He takes another deep breath, and holds it. Without his breathing, or his sniffling, it’s almost completely silent. Maybe he can pretend this is peace, if only for a minute. 

The road leading up to the tower stretches out in front of him, and Peter scans the horizon, ignoring the black Mercedes parked across the street. He can’t bear to look at it, so he takes another few steps in his wet socks, still crying, still stumbling.

The world stretches out from here, trees for as far as the eye can see, the highway a little in the distance, roaring and alive despite the fact that Peter’s world’s crashing and burning as he knows it.

Harley knows now. There’s no going back. 

He could have pretended his feelings weren’t real until they disappeared with the next boy he found on Instagram and started drooling over. He could have pretended his skin didn’t burn and tingle every time Harley touched him, he could have pretended his stomach didn’t flip every time Harley spoke to him. 

He could have pretended, now, that Harley didn’t even exist, and wash away his burning memory with a tub of ice cream and a pepperoni pizza. 

But he can’t. 

Because no matter how hard he tries, Harley’s always there. One step ahead of him, at the forefront of his mind for as long as he exists. Because, as always, no matter how hard he tries, Harley’s never going to leave him. 

Never. 

“Peter?” 

He should ignore him, walk completely the other way, refuse to let him see the tears still spilling from his eyes like a bleeding waterfall, but he turns, arms still crossed to himself, still crying like he’ll have never tears left. 

“What?” He asks, anger fading from his voice as quickly as the snowflakes are fading into Harley’s perfect, brown hair. And there he is, in all his glory. Perfect. 

He sounds tired, voice barely reaching where Harley’s steadily walking towards him through the snow. He’s, at least, been sensible enough to grab a sweater, and he’s clutching it in one hand with a look gazed on Peter’s face like he isn’t gonna let him speak at all. 

He supposes that’s fair. An eye for an eye. 

“You look cold,” he murmurs when he gets close enough to Peter to speak quietly. “Here.” 

Peter takes the sweater without another word, not caring about whether he looks impolite or not. He mumbles a thanks, face gradually becoming pinker as his fingertips brush against Harley’s large hand. 

He rubs at his eyes with the sweater, the tears stopping as he sniffles. It doesn’t help that it’s cold, though, the chill travelling through his body when he unconsciously moves slightly closer to Harley. He really should have thought about storming off back to his bedroom, rather than outside, barefoot. 

“Can we-”

“No,” Harley says, definite and strong. “We’re not going anywhere until we figure this shit out, Pete.” 

He doesn’t correct him. There’s not much energy left in him when he nods, pulling his arms into himself and tries to look Harley in the eye through the heavyweight snowflakes. His socks are wet, and his nose is cold and red, but if he leaves now, they’ll never speak again. 

“What is there to talk about?” He shrugs, blinking away like it’ll stop the snow falling into his eyes. The tears have stopped, but he still shuffles uncomfortably, a numb hole spreading itself throughout his chest. 

“There’s so much to talk about,” Harley says, his tone of voice agreeing and soft. “Why don’t we go with why you left last night? We can go from there.” 

“Why I left last night?” Peter says, furious and strangely upset even as Harley’s shoulders sag. “If you don’t know, I suggest you leave, now.”

The taller boy swallows, pulling the sleeves of his t-shirt over his hands. Peter’s strong, but he’s nothing if he isn’t honest, and Harley nods like he already knows that he’d say that. 

“I kissed that girl;” he admits, like Peter didn’t know that already. “It was part of a game.” 

Peter nods, silent as the snow falls around them, bruising into their lips and freezing their limbs. He doesn’t know what else to say to that - of course it was a game, and Harley wasn’t _his_. Why was he so upset? 

“I know it was a game.” He mumbles, angry, at himself, at Harley, at that stupid party in the first place. “I don’t have a reason to be upset with you about it.” 

Harley takes a moment to answer, the soft sound of cars on the early morning highway surrounding them from a distance. Peter’s suddenly grateful they’re outside, for the undeniable, suffocating tension between them evaporates into the air, and they let the snow cover up their thoughts from one another.

“Maybe if you explain why you were upset,” he tries, teeth beginning to chatter. “I can...try and help.” 

And what the _fuck_ does he say to that? 

_‘Oh, yeah, I’ve been in love with you since the day we met and it kills me inside to see you with someone else and it kills me every time you look at me and if I don’t kiss you soon I might actually explode and’-_

“Peter?” Harley says, waving a hand in front of his face. Peter panics for a split second, wondering if he’d been thinking out loud, but Harley is as calm as ever and his face gives away any emotions.  For now, it’s still a secret, hidden between flakes of snow and unspoken promises. 

“I thought you liked me,” he mumbles, and Harley doesn’t catch it, because he leans in closer and his breath’s making little clouds in front of Peter’s face and he’s perfect, oh so perfect. “I thought you liked me.” 

He catches it this time, blinking in a way that Peter can’t read, and he _hates_ that, because, no matter what, Peter can always read Harley. He’s memorised his face, the little crinkles in the space between his eyebrows, the small dimple just above the right side of his mouth, the one patch of his eyebrow that just refuses to conform with the other patches of hair no matter how hard he tries to flatten it. No matter what, Peter can always read Harley’s face, his emotions, and now he can’t, and that’s _terrifying_. 

“I do like you.”

“You like me like you like Tony,” he spits. “You’ve never liked me properly.” 

Harley looks conflicted as he answers, hurt and confused and angry all at once.

“How could you possibly know that?” He says, and now it’s his turn to spit venom, so angry that Peter flinches slightly into himself. “Have you ever asked _me_ how _I_ feel?”  

Peter shakes his head, shameful and embarrassed as Harley towers over him, his hair covering the older boy’s face. He can only imagine that it’s angry, that the creases in his forehead are tighter and more pronounced. 

“Peter, I’ve liked you since I stepped foot in that fucking tower and met you.” 

And that’s it.  

Because there’s no going back now, is there? 

That’s it. Out in the open. No snowflake big enough to cover how much emotion that secret brings. No amount of silence large enough to cover up that revelation. 

Now what?

It seems Harley knows, because he presses forward, unrelenting and unfazed. Peter stumbles on his feet into the snow, swallowing, but standing his ground, even as Harley’s face glowers down on him.  

“You never asked me how I felt. I thought it was pretty fucking obvious, mind you.” He says, angry and hot and shaking. “I thought you were smart enough to tell when someone’s pining for you every fucking day. I messaged you first. I invited you out. I-”

“You stood me up!” Peter cries, pushing back just as hard, even though his small body lacks so many inches and so much width. “You left me in a park for fifteen minutes. You insulted me, you knew exactly what you were doing! You never called for that pizza for me, you knew what you were doing, Harley!” 

He’s crying again now, angry tears this time, because the tension in the air is so tight and rigid that he can hardly breathe under the weight of it. The snow roars around him, dripping down his cheek and soaking the sweater around him. Harley looks unfazed, but there’s a quirk to his lip, and his left pinky’s twitching. 

“You’re  _still_ hung up on that? It was an honest mistake!” 

“You knew exactly what you were doing!” Peter repeats, so close that he can pull his hands up and bring them down onto Harley’s chest in small fists. They rest there, not pounding, but a gentle reminder that he’s here too. He can stand up for himself, too.   

“That was to get your attention, moron!” Harley practically shouts, his arms flying around him like he doesn’t know what to do with them. 

“Well, it fucking worked!” Peter shouts back, just as loud, so close that he can hear his own voice ringing in Harley’s ears. There’s a split second that they break eye contact, flickering down each other’s faces with a gaze that doesn’t linger. When they make eye contact again, there’s fury and embarrassment, and sadness and love and- 

So much _love_. 

Harley’s face is almost too much to decipher, a hurricane of mixed emotions, so loud and furious that Peter has to blink a few times around the details of his skin. There’s anger there, and so much hate, but his eyes are softening and his lips are parting and the hate’s not at him and- 

And there’s something else, too, something in the way he brought a sweater for Peter and not himself, something in the way he stands, in the cold wearing only a long sleeved t-shirt, something in the way he followed him even after Peter had screamed at him. 

They’re closer now, impossibly close even as Peter presses onto his tiptoes and squeezes away the last of the tears in his eyes. They’re almost at eye level, and Harley’s eyes are soft, so soft that Peter melts forward into them and parts his lips and takes a deep breath and- 

“Peter.” Harley breathes out, his hands gentle on Peter’s waist even as the smaller boy shifts his hands to cup his cheeks. 

And that’s it. 

His lips are on Harley’s before he can think, angry and fond and sad and so, so love filled that he can barely think. His head’s swimming, pounding beyond recognition and he presses his hands further into Harley’s face, so tight he can feel the older boy’s cheekbones and jaw. 

Harley’s just as furious, just as fond, just as sad, matching Peter’s intensity without a second thought. His arms are tighter around his waist, moving down to his thighs so Peter can clumsily jump and wrap his legs around his waist, his feet cold and numb as they leave the snow. 

Peter decides that his hands are a nuisance, too intruding, too in the way, so he wraps them around Harley’s neck and tangles his fingers in his hair and, _there_. 

They’re so close, so impossibly close that Peter can hear every breath Harley takes, every soft ‘ _Peter_ ’ he whispers, every curse and every whine coming from his own lips, spilling into Harley’s mind. They tangle their thoughts together, no longer lost to the snow and the silence outside, and Peter can just _hear him_ , hear everything he’s thinking. 

“Peter,” he mumbles again, lips moving feverishly against his own, his cheek, his neck, his ear. “I like you. I like you so fucking much.” 

Peter manages a breathy laugh, letting Harley kiss the spot under his ear lobe with a soft, broken ‘ _oh_ ’. 

“I like you so fucking much, too, douchebag.” 

Harley laughs, a soft, light laugh that breaks the hot tension in the air between them and it’s then that Peter realises that they’re stood in the snow, he’s soaked to the core, and he’s in Harley Keener’s arms. 

He blushes when Harley pulls back at his silence, the older boy’s face gently smiling up at him. Peter wants to stroke his hair, his face, his lips, trace every detail of Harley Keener’s face until he could paint it with his eyes closed. 

Harley must be able to see what he’s thinking, because he leans forward till his nose is gently brushing Peter’s, breathing gently in time with him. 

“Maybe we should go inside,” he says, and Peter laughs in response, soft and light and happy. “I’m freezing my dick off, here.” 

Peter nods, but neither of them leave, frozen in place as they study each other with their eyes. The gaze is so beautiful, so intense, that they’re afraid to break it in fear of forgetting how the other looks. 

“Yeah,” Peter says after a while, breathing slowing as the snowflakes fall into Harley’s hair and settle, beautiful and pretty, oh so _pretty_. “Let’s go.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, finally.


End file.
